


The Hunt for the Manhattan Mafia

by Elise_Rene



Category: Death Note, Death Note & Related Fandoms
Genre: Explicit Language, F/M, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-08
Updated: 2015-08-10
Packaged: 2018-04-03 11:46:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 70,866
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4099780
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elise_Rene/pseuds/Elise_Rene
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Matt is an agent for CSIS - the Canadian Security Intelligence Service - looking for the infamous Manhattan Mafia. The group is under suspicion of insider trading along with a multitude of other illegal dealings, and as Matt's first mission, he is going undercover to bring them down from the inside.</p><p>Mello is the boss of the Manhattan Mafia. Some time ago he got his hands on a newspaper from the future - one that shows tomorrow's stock prices. </p><p>The hardest part of being undercover, Matt soon discovers, is that you can get attached to your target.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Hunt Begins

**Author's Note:**

> Slightly AU: Matt is about 10 years younger than Mello and Near. L has died, while Mello and Matt (obviously) have not. Other random characters include Lucy from Elfen Lied, who is also non-canonical, as well as some original characters and the cast of L4D2.  
> 

**-Toronto, 7:52 am-**

 

**[WELCOME TO CSiSNET DIRECT ACCESS TERMINAL. PLEASE ENTER COMMAND.]**

  **> login**

[ **PLEASE ENTER USER AUTHENTICATION]**

**sa_matt@csis.net | goggleddgam3r96**

**[AUTHENTICATION ACCEPTED. PLEASE ENTER COMMAND.]**

**> access 2121317-04**

**[YOU ARE ATTEMPTING TO ACCESS A SECURITY LEVEL 4 (TOP SECRET) FILE.**

**PLEASE NOTE THAT ACCESS TO THIS FILE IS RESTRICTED TO PERSONNEL WITH LEVEL FOUR SECURITY CLEARANCE. CONTINUING WITHOUT PROPER AUTHORIZATION WILL RESULT IN DISCIPLINARY ACTION, UP TO AND INCLUDING IMMEDIATE TERMINATION OF LIFE.**

**INFORMATION REGARDING YOUR ACCESS TO THIS FILE (INCLUDING THE DATE, TIME, AND LOCATION) WILL BE REPORTED TO THE RECORDS AND INFORMATION SECURITY ADMINISTRATION (RAISA).**

**IF YOU WISH TO CONTINUE, RE-ENTER YOUR USER AUTHENTICATION NOW.]**

Matt sighed. He has only been at this new job for a week, and already the authentication procedures have become tedious to him. Without looking at the keys, he re-entered the information.

**sa_matt@csis.net | goggledggamer96**

**WARNING**

**[INCORRECT AUTHENTICATION: YOU HAVE SIXTY SECONDS TO ENTER THE CORRECT AUTHENTICATION, OR SECURITY WILL BE SUMMONED TO YOUR LOCATION.]**

The sudden error beep from the computer made Matt jerk in his seat. "Shit," he grumbled, "a typo?" He hurriedly tapped the credentials.

**sa_matt@csis.net | goggleddgamer96**

**[WARNING: INCORRECT AUTHENTICATION]**

"Still wrong?!" He panicked, studying the screen. "...Oh shit, 3 not e. God damn it."

**sa_matt@csis.net | goggleddgam3r96**

**[AUTHENTICATION ACCEPTED. PLEASE ENTER YOUR PROJECT-SPECIFIC PERSONAL IDENTIFICATION NUMBER (PSPIN)]**

Matt sighed with relief and slumped back in the seat. False credentials are no laughing matter in the Canadian Security Intelligence Service.

**> 369-705-1429-015**

**[PSPIN ACCEPTED. PLEASE LOOK INTO THE CAMERA FOR A RETINAL IDENTIFICATION SCAN.]**

Matt turned to the camera.

**[INCORRECT ORIENTATION. PLEASE ALIGN THE PUPILS OF YOUR EYES WITH THE GUIDELINES INDICATED ON THE SECONDARY SCREEN AND TRY AGAIN.]**

"..." Matt blinked. "Oh, right." He quickly took off his goggles, placing them on the table.

**[THANK YOU. THE TIME AND DATE OF YOUR ACCESS TO THIS FILE HAS BEEN LOGGED AND REPORTED TO THE RECORDS AND INFORMATION SECURITY ADMINISTRATION (RAISA).]**

**USER NAME:** S.A. Matt

 **TITLE:** Junior Supervising Programmer

**DISPLAYING 369-705-1429-015, CLEARANCE LEVEL 4**

"Finally!" Matt rubbed his eyes and reached for the coffee mug near the computer. It was already cold.

Alone in his cubicle, the redhead began researching the file that had been sent to him. His eyes skimmed the pages of words: an underground organization, informally nicknamed the "Manhattan Mafia," has been gaining ground recently by participating in various illegal trades and auctions on the black market. Particularly, the selling and buying of incredibly undervalued stocks, which are almost always guaranteed to shoot up in price - from 50% to 300%.

This was Matt's specialty.

The deep web is a galaxy of untouchable - well, mostly untouchable - websites whose IP addresses bounce off countless routers, making them the perfect tool for illegal internet activity. Matt knew this better than anyone, considering his involvement with the deep web landed him this job, but that's another story for another time.

For now, it was trying to locate and infiltrate this mafia group, by any means necessary. Matt cracked his knuckles and began to type.

 

**-New York City, 11:38 am-**

 

The familiar sound of the lunch hour rush drifted through the streets of New York. Businesspeople and families alike, rushing here and there, constantly drifted past the inconspicuous ice cream parlor on the street corner. Occasionally, a child would pull their parents inside by the sleeve, demanding a mint chocolate cone.

A quirky blonde girl would happily give the child a cone and a smile. But of course, this ice cream parlor was not really an ice cream parlor.

A metal door slid open to reveal a large, telekill plated office. "Hey boss, I'm placing another order for Polar Bear Tracks and Beary Berry - just letting you know," the girl in the Polar Parlor apron, adorned with a standing cartoon polar bear holding an ice cream cone, said to the young man who was on the office phone.

The phone receiver was covered with a leather-gloved hand. "Elli, how many times did I tell you that you don't need to keep asking about the ice cream stuff?"

Elli shrugged, "I dunno, but that last time Mike ordered 18 pounds of cookie dough ice cream got you pretty mad, so I just wanted to keep you in the loop."

The young man, known to his allies as Mello, sighed and shooed Elli away with his hand. He returned to his phone call. On the other end of the line, the gruff voice of a customer continued the conversation.

"Are you certain of the timeline?" The voice inquired.

Mello nodded to the virtual prescience, "Yes. As it stands, a list of ticker symbols will be sent to you in 4 hours, give or take ten minutes."

There was a pause on the line, and then, "...And these purchases will result in capital gains?"

"I guarantee it personally, my friend." Mello unwrapped a chocolate bar, "in 4 hours you will receive the stocks, and in 24 you will be rich." With this, the blond hung up and walked over to the wall. Then he walked over to the door, locked it, thrice, and returned to the wall again. Sliding his hand over the surface, he waited patiently for the keypad to emerge.

>2-1-2-1-0-6-6-3-9

The keypad beeped, but nothing happened. A prompt to continue.

>5-3-4-3-0-5-4-2-5-1-2-1-9

Upon entering the second combination, a small camera emerged. Mello allowed it to scan his eyes. At last, with a gust of air, a small safe opened up. Mello checked the door again before taking out the contents of the safe, the only thing inside being a wrinkled newspaper.

Placing it on his desk, he skimmed the front page. The date read "May 14, 2015." The title read "The New York Times." Of course, the date on this day was not May 14, but instead May 13. And the issue of the Times from today's date was already distributed to the public. But this issue was the only one of its kind, for now, and it was in Mello's possession.

Ignoring the current events of the day - or rather, of tomorrow - he immediately flipped to the Business Day page. The NASDAQ was down by 0.93%, the S&P 500 by 0.71%. _'Not good,'_ he thought, scanning the page for positive numbers. And there it was: Crude oil up 1%, and natural gas up 3%.

The Euro was trading much higher than yesterday - or rather, today - and the US dollar was up half a cent! This was enough. Mello's clients would be satisfied.

 

**-Toronto, 1:28 pm-**

 

Matt fidgeted with his suit jacket, pulling the blazer's cuffs back as far as they could go. He had never worn a suit before, and this one was much too big for him. His hands were often not fully visible behind the sleeves.

The conference room slowly filled with executives, pantsuits and ties and golden cufflinks lined the rectangular table. Matt stood awkwardly at the front of the room, a projector illuminating a screen behind him. He watched as the older men and women shot him weird glances, practically hearing their thoughts.

_'This is the new agent?' 'He's the one who got this case?' 'He's young enough to be my grandson, what's the meaning of this?' 'Management has lost its marbles.'_

Of course, no one actually said this, but Matt was prone to anxiety-inducing evaluations of situations. It was a bad habit; he was trying to get rid of it.

At exactly 1:30, Matt cleared his throat and a presentation started up behind him.

"H-hello everyone," he began, fiddling with the presentation clicker in his hands. "As you probably know, I'm the new recruit... assigned to the M-015 case. My name is Matt, and no, before you ask, I don't have a last name... sorry." The slides changed behind him. "Anyway, I've been asked to brief you on this case so if you have any questions, feel free to ask."

A hand shot up and a skinny woman in a dark blue blazer spoke up, "By which criteria were you assigned to this case? Where were you transferred from, anyway?" There were some nods in agreement around the table.

Matt blinked. "...Um, I'm actually not authorized to reveal that information. Sorry. May I continue?"

The woman made a face of disgust. Matt took that as a 'yes.'

"So," he continued, "here is what we know. The organization, a crime syndicate code-named Manhattan Mafia and hereby referred to as 'the mafia' or 'the group,' operates primarily in New York, although there are indications that their reach extends far beyond the United States. We are not yet aware of any members, but we estimate there to be at least ten operating in the New York base and a network of up to one hundred operating in other parts of the world. They have been on the radar for a couple of years, but this year saw a spike in illegal activity which is why the group is now a priority for CSIS, the CIA and the FBI. Interpol is keeping an eye on the situation as well."

A balding man from the back of the table raised his hand. "They've been known in the past for Blacknet drug trafficking - is this still the case?"

Matt's eye twitched, "Actually it's the DARKnet." He shook his head, "and no, although they are probably still engaged in narcotics trading, this time the case is insider trading."

Someone else in the room shouted out, "You mean like stock market stuff?"

"Exactly," Matt said, changing the slide again, "they possess insider information, which they sell to their clients. This information consists of certain stocks, exchange traded funds, commodities, or bonds, which are undervalued and will increase by a varying amount of basis points within 24 hours."

Matt looked out at the gaggle of blank faces in front of him.

"Um... To simplify: let's say Apple stock is trading at $120 today. Following?" Matt waited until everyone nodded. "This group receives inside information that tomorrow the stock will trade at $190. This is quite a spike, right? If you owned 1,000 shares of Apple stock, you'd make $70,000 overnight! That's what happens. The clients receive a collection of stock names, which they buy while the price is low, and then sell immediately after the spike. Make sense?"

There was a murmuring among the attendees. A man sitting at the front of the table scratched his head and said, "People get rich from stocks all the time, don't they..? Can't these just be flukes by lucky people?"

Matt shook his head, "Absolutely not. These are the same people, consistently, winning out against the market index. People have tried for years and years, ever since the stock market was born, to predict prices. It's impossible. Stocks are forecasted along what's called a 'random walk;' meaning 'impossible to predict with any accuracy.' Additionally, those that have been taken in under suspicion of insider trading all say the same thing: I got an anonymous phone call and someone told me to buy these stocks."

"But how can they be getting this information?" Asked a grey-haired woman with a bewildered look on her face.

"That," Matt said, "is what I am trying to figure out."

 

**-A couple of months ago, New York City-**

 

It was a cold January afternoon when Mello found The Newspaper.  

Although primarily a criminal by trade, Mello always had a knack for investigating. Perhaps it had something to do with the way he was brought up, but that is another story for another time. Those detective skills were quickly recognized by clients and allies alike, and it offered Mello no lack of interesting cases to solve.

On this day, he sat across a few people who were seated on a dark red leather sofa. This was in a previous location, before the Polar Parlor base was established, and instead of heavy metal, the walls were a comforting wood. The sofa was occupied by a thin African-American woman, her heavy and stout companion, a lanky young man with a redneck look on his face, and an old rugged man. Their names, respectively, were Rochelle, Coach, Ellis, and Bill. Four New York natives who had a problem and had heard that Mello might be able to solve it.

"This guy said the Red Sox would lose the game - and then they did!" Rochelle said, visibly angry. "I lost on the bets 'cause of course no one would bet against! It's bad for my business."

Bill chimed in, "The creep told me ma corn farm would burn to th'ground. I told 'im he was a whackjob but then ya wouldn't believe it," he shook his head, "on the next day, all ma corn was burnt to a crisp."

Mello listened attentively, occasionally nodding his head.

"I done seen him in the 7-11." Ellis recalled his story, "he looked at me with them kooky eyes and says 'I know which ticket is gonna win' and picked one out."

"Let me guess; he won?" Mello asked.

Ellis nodded in response. "He claims he can see the future. Crazy."

"We ain't the only ones pissed off by this," Coach added. "This guy needs to go."

A half hour later, Mello had the office to himself. He paced the floor, thinking about the details given to him. He knew who they were talking about - a short, old man, who lived on a hill in the suburbs of Albany, nicknamed Wacky Wally. Rumours were that he was insane, but these new revelations were intriguing. Having nothing better to do for the rest of the day, Mello grabbed his coat and set off to investigate.

The snow had finally stopped falling when Mello reached the small shack on the hill. The place unmistakably belonged to a crazy person. There were eight scarecrows on the front lawn as well as years’ worth of leaves, weeds, and trash. Mello walked around the perimeter of the house, looking for a possible way inside. The front door was locked with a giant padlock - an indication that the crazy man wasn't home. The windows were all boarded up from the inside. The cellar door was shut tight.

Mello sighed. The only way in was the chimney.

Although fit, Mello still had a difficult time climbing up to the roof due to the old plywood ravaging him with splinters. Finally at the chimney, he peered down. It was maybe a 15 foot drop - if he was careful, he could slide down slowly without incident.

But he was not careful.

"Oof!" Mello hit the pile of wood in the fireplace with a loud thud. Getting up carefully, he looked around to make sure no one was in the house to hear him. Hearing only the silence of the empty house in response, Mello began to search. He wasn't sure what he was looking for, but he was certain that he found something valuable when his eyes landed on a newspaper laying on the coffee table. What caught his attention was the date: it was tomorrow's. He picked it up.

The headline read _'French satire magazine - Charlie Hebdo - under attack: artists killed by terrorists.'_ Further down on the page was an article on the strife in Ukraine, then something about Pope Francis. He turned the page. An analysis of the Ebola crisis in Africa, a sports column about football, a crossword. There was an article about a London orphanage that burnt down from a stray bolt of lightning. He turned to the third page.

 _"Fire on the hilltops of Albany: One man dead"_ was the title on the page. Underneath was a picture of the burnt wreckage of a house and Mello recognized the front yard immediately. It was this house.

Mello nearly jumped when he heard the padlock clicking open. Thinking quickly, he grabbed the newspaper, stuffed it in his coat, and hid in the closet. He watched through a small crack as the front door swung open and the man known as Wacky Wallace stepped inside. He was muttering to himself.

"Ain't no way I'm dyin' tonight." Wally walked into the living room and Mello could see that he was holding a box of matches. "I know I can't control fate, O Holy One," Wally said, raising his hands high into the air. "This house will burn down, it will, but I won't be the one dyin'..!" He laughed like a cartoon villain and began pacing the room. "Any minute now the FedEx man'll be here, and I'll make sure he never leaves."

Mello held his breath. This man was indeed crazy - plotting a murder because of a newspaper? Just then, his eyes widened in terror.

_“And we're stayin' alive, stayin' alive._

_Ah, ha, ha, ha, stayin' alive, stayin' alive.”_

His cell phone was ringing. Before he could even reach into his pocket to shut the thing off, the closet door was nearly ripped off by Wally.

His voice boomed with fury, "WHO. **ARE** **.** **YOU?!** "

Mello opened his mouth to speak but couldn't think of an appropriate answer.

Wally suddenly backed down. "Wait... This is perfect... Now I don’t even have to wait for the FedEx guy!" With a mighty force, he pushed Mello back and slammed the closet door shut, pushing a chair up against it.

 _'Oh shit,'_ thought Mello, trying to push the door open. It wouldn't budge.

"Oh happy day!" Wally laughed again, and Mello could hear the striking of a match.

 _'Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit,'_ pushing against the door with all his might, Mello's mind was racing with thoughts. How could he escape? His thoughts were interrupted by an irritating tickle against his stomach. _'Of course - the paper!'_ He pulled the newspaper out of his coat hastily and knocked against the door loudly.

"Hey old man!" Mello shouted, as fire began to fill the house. "You might not wanna leave yet!"

Wally, who was already at the front door, turned around. "What? Shut up and accept your fate!"

Mello coughed from the smoke, but shouted loud enough for Wally to hear, "Oh yeah? You're gonna leave me burning in here with your fortune-telling newspaper?"

Wally stopped dead in his tracks. He ran to the coffee table, flipping it over. "My paper! You TOOK IT?!"

"Indeed I did, I have it right here." Mello crinkled the pages a bit for Wally to hear. The living room was already ablaze and the lack of open windows made it very hard to breathe.

 **"GIVE IT BACK!"** Wally bellowed, stomping to the closet and avoiding the flames.

"Well I can't unless you open the door, isn't that right?" As he said this, Mello was already preparing his next move. He quietly removed a coat hanger from the upper rack and untwisted it.

Wally was furious. The heat from the flames and his anger were impairing his judgment. He quickly moved aside the chair that was blocking the closet door and that split second was all that Mello needed. The blond kicked open the door and in a single move, the sharp bronze end of the coat hanger impaled Wally through the chest.

The fire spread to the wooden walls. Hearing the creaking of the foundation, Mello quickly pushed aside the astonished old man and ran for the door. Clutching the newspaper under his arm, he jumped out of the house. As soon as he was on the lawn, the building collapsed in a fiery heap.

Mello fell to the ground in a coughing fit. The flames enveloped the shack so fast that Wally didn't have time to scream. Looking at the newspaper, Mello got up slowly; inhaling the oxygen so deeply that he felt his lungs would burst. And, without another glance at the house, he made his way down the hill. It would be hours before the fire department was notified.

This was how The Newspaper made its way into Mello's hands. Over the next couple of weeks, he would carefully study the newspaper and then read the corresponding news. It was never wrong. Mello had no idea how it worked. At 8:00 in the morning, Eastern Time, if you were watching the pages, the typewritten words would disintegrate and re-appear. The date rearranged itself into that of the following day.

Now, a person could do great things with the future in their hands. One could become famous as a fortune teller, or a prophet. One could try to prevent terrible things by warning the world of events to come. One could simply sit back and watch.

Mello? Well, he chose to make money.

The business column, the stock market, the index. It would also change day-by-day. Every businessman's dream come true: knowing tomorrow's stock prices.

 

**-Present day, Toronto, 3:31 pm-**

 

Matt was tired. He spent an hour answering questions in the conference room, and then another hour answering questions in his office. As soon as he was alone, the phone rang and he had to answer _more_ questions. By the end of it all, he was so drained that he had even forgotten to eat lunch.

Getting up from his desk, Matt grabbed his wallet and exited the building. In the nearest trash can, he dumped the suit jacket and then headed towards the Tim Horton’s down the street.

Waiting in the lineup, Matt started hatching his plan. He had to find a way to get into contact with someone from the elusive mafia group and figure out how in the world they were getting their information. Although not great, Matt had an idea. A businessman, CEO of Johnson & Johnson, had recently made incredible capital gain on his portfolio. Matt suspected it was because of an underground informant.

“Four cheese bagel with butter please, toasted.” Matt said to the cashier, “and a small Iced Cap.”  Paying the Indian woman at the cash register, he went over to the side to wait for his food.

If he could tap into the phone lines of the CEO, there was a chance he could overhear the guy bragging about the stock information he got. Hopefully, it would be enough to point Matt in the right direction. He knew the chances were slim. He’d have to wait hours, maybe days, for the guy to say something of interest.

Taking the bagel and coffee, Matt made his way to a window-side table and sat down. He wondered how many more people would exploit this trading system in the time it took him to track down information. It was frustrating.

Then suddenly; “Catherine, I’m telling you, invest in Alibaba. I promise you won’t regret it.”

Matt turned his head ever so slightly toward a couple sitting on his left – a tall man in a collared shirt and tie was sitting across from an older woman with a purple shawl. The man’s voice was hushed, and Matt had to strain to hear him.

The woman presumably named Catherine sipped her coffee, “Again with the Chinese Google site, John? I told you, I’m not interested in gambling with those foreign stocks. Who knows what those Asians are doing.”

The man presumably named John had a desperate look on his face. “No I’m telling you, it _isn’t_ a gamble!” His voice quieted down even more, “Can’t you just trust me? The stock will spike, I’m certain of it this time.”

Catherine adjusted her glasses and sighed. “Fine, I’ll read some analyst reports after lunch, maybe I’ll look into it with my broker tomorrow.”

“No, _not_ tomorrow!” John had to forcefully keep his voice down, looking around suspiciously. Matt quickly lowered his gaze to his drink, pretending to be on his phone. John dropped to a near whisper, “Catherine, please. You have to buy the stock today.”

The woman looked agitated as she put her coffee down forcefully. “What’s really going on, John? You’re beginning to sound like a crazy person.”

There was a pause. “…Catherine. You must’ve heard along the grapevine about all those people getting rich from short-selling stocks after receiving an anonymous phone call, right?”

Catherine nodded slowly. Matt was nearly on the edge of his seat.

“Well,” John continued hesitantly, “… _I_ got a phone call.”

The woman gasped quietly, covering her mouth. “No… You’re telling me you—“

“Yes, for the past two weeks I’ve been in contact with colleagues who knew people that got rich from on the TSX. They put me through to some site in the deep web and I had to pre-pay a lot of money. I was so afraid of a scam, but then this morning, I got the call!”

Matt couldn’t believe his luck. All he needed was one more clue.

Catherine chose her next words very carefully; “John… Does anyone else know about this?”

The man shook his head quickly. “Just you! I was very careful. I used the Onion Router and everything. All I had to do was search for something on the black market, and the forum section led me to the right page! No tracks left behind: I paid everything in Bitcoin!”

At this point, Matt tuned them out. _‘Jackpot,’_ was the only thought in his mind as he quickly finished the bagel and hurried out of the café. With a surge of new energy, he was back at his computer in less than ten minutes.

Setting up TOR, otherwise known as the Onion Router, was a relatively easy task for Matt. The virtual browser acted as an invisibility cloak for internet users – you were essentially untraceable on the net because your computer’s address bounced off international browsers so many times that it was nearly impossible to track.

 _Nearly_ impossible.

Matt had at his disposable a full arsenal of security software and hardware, provided to him by his employers. And although internet activity was impossible to trace through TOR, there was one piece of the puzzle that no one can cover up completely: payment.

The virtual currency, Bitcoin, is protected by layers and layers of encryption, keeping the buyers and sellers of illegal merchandise safe from prying eyes. However, since at some point the virtual currency must be linked to _real_ currency (after all, no one would accept imaginary money, right?), a momentary crack in the protection opens up.

Using site crawling software, Matt searched the forums of the deep web’s black market for relevant keywords. Upon locating a trace of a couple of payees, he was able to follow the path of the money through the net. Within three and a half hours, he had the coordinates to a location.   

 

**-The next day, New York City, 8:31 am-**

 

In the dim light of the morning shining through the blinds, Mello sat in his office, counting his money. Yes, this was a cliché of course, but he was a stickler for details and thus kept rigorous records of every transaction. His personal motto was ‘trust no one but yourself.’

The system he had developed was brilliant to say the least. Upon taking the Newspaper into his possession, it took Mello less than a day to come up with the idea of using the future stock prices as a way to make money. Certainly, he spent a few days testing its accuracy. Like clockwork, the words on the grey pages foretold the coming events of the day to a T. The news were accurate as of 8:00 in the morning of the date under the heading.

With the curiosity of a scientist, Mello had tested the limits of the Newspaper.

He kept the folded sheet of tests in the safe along with the Newspaper itself.

After having figured out the time constraint, Mello began to map out how to properly exploit the future’s information. He would enlist others to buy the stocks from the paper on the day before the paper’s date. Overnight the prices would change, and by 8:00 am they will have always hit the target price documented on the page.

The next step was figuring out how to profit from this. Surely, he could have simply bought and sold the stocks himself, profiting from the capital gains. But this was too easy. Instead, every other day, he would sell the information. Bit by bit. For enormous prices.

Why every _other_ day? Because the following day, he would reinvest the money from his clients into the largest spiking stocks himself. By reinvesting credited money, he was essentially making a profit from nothing. And the profit was huge.

Within a month of starting this plan, Mello had bought him and his team a brand new base, in the heart of New York. This building, although aptly hidden from plain sight, was huge. It descended 15 floors beneath the surface, and was decked out with the newest technological advancements. Not to mention, the money also funded the ice cream shop, which served as a perfect disguise.

On top of the new location, Mello had also given generous gifts to the members of his team. His immediate colleagues were not many, and had become sort of a makeshift family. There was Elli, the girl who took care of protection measures and finances. As such, she was in charge of upholding the group’s disguise and most of their accounting. Since her early teenage years, she wished to run an ice cream parlor – and Mello granted this wish.

For Mike, Mello’s right-hand man, public transport was his means of getting around. Often this created problems due to delays and crowding. As a solution, Mello got him a car.

Similar gifts were granted for the others, such as Nick, who received a week-long prepaid vacation to Mexico, and Lucy, whom he bought a pet-friendly apartment and a puppy. Mello never accepted any gifts in return.

Now, as he sat in his office, counting his money, there was a knock on the door.

“Hey,” Elli’s voice sounded through the metal, “can I come in?”

Mello put the money aside, unlocking the door with a button under his desk. “What’s up?”

Elli looked excited but confused. “Um, well… There’s a kid out there, in the Parlor. He said he wants a job. He’s very cute; I think he’d make a good addition. Plus I could use some help! Mike has fucking butterfingers and I can’t trust Luce around kids. You know.”

Mello raised an eyebrow. “…What did you tell him?”

“I said to wait there and that I’d go get the hiring manager from the back,” she smiled.

“We have a hiring manager?”  Mello inquired, to which Elli laughed.

“Yes, it’s _you._ Can you go talk to him? Please please please please?” She put her palms together, “With a very beary cherry on top?”

Mello sighed, but he couldn’t say no to that. “Fine, I’ll go. But for the future, don’t include me in your ice cream matters.”

 

**-Earlier that day, New York City, 7:56 am-**

 

Matt had taken the plane from Toronto Pearson to the JFK New York airport the very same night he found the address. Catching the 3:00 am flight, he hadn’t slept all night, running off the adrenaline of his first job as a CSIS agent.

Having no suitcase, Matt left the airport in a hurry, carrying only a backpack with a computer and some clothes. He hailed a taxi and gave the driver the address he had scribbled on a post-it note. When the cab stopped in front of the Polar Parlor, Matt asked why.

“This is address ya gave me, kid. That’ll be $60.” The cabbie held out his hand, waiting for the cash.

Matt blinked, looking out the window to the pinkish purple ice cream parlor with a couple of white patio chairs and tables, adorned with pink-embroidered snowflake tablecloths.

“This… can’t be the right place…”

The cabbie rolled his eyes, “The longer you make me idle here, the more I’ll charge ya.”

“O-oh, sorry,” Matt took out three twenties and a five, handing it to the driver and stepping out of the car, which immediately drove away.

He stood in front of the parlor for a few minutes, trying to figure out his mistake. _‘Did I spell something wrong? Did I get a false address? Were the coordinates messed up?’_

His thoughts were interrupted by the jingling of the bells above the door as it opened. Elli stepped outside, flipping over the sign that said, ‘I know it’s unBEARable, but we’re closed!’ to the other side, which said, ‘Don’t be biPOLAR – come on in!’

“Hey kiddo,” she smiled at Matt, “do you want ice cream so bad that you were waiting for me to open??”

Matt fumbled with the straps of his bag, “U-um, no, I…” He tried to gather his thoughts, noticing the emptiness of the parlor behind Elli. “I’m… actually looking for a job..! Are you hiring?” He figured he might as well investigate the area, in case the address was indeed correct. Maybe the base was nearby? Maybe underground?

“A job, huh?” Elli pondered this, putting a hand to her chin. “Well, I suppose I could use the help. Do you have any experience in the service industry, hon?” 

Matt grinned, “I’m a quick learner.”

Elli laughed, holding the door open. “Okay, come inside and I’ll see what I can do.” She went over to the counter, leaning against it. “My name is Elise, by the way. But you can call me Elli. What’s your name?”

“I’m Matt,” he said, admiring the interior décor. “Do you own this place?”

“Yep, the Polar Parlor is my pride and joy.” She pushed a few stray locks of hair behind her ear in a proud gesture. “You like it?”

Matt nodded. He looked around the shop – the walls were decorated with paintings of an arctic landscape and silver snowflakes hung from the ceiling by invisible strings. The counter featured the Parlor’s mascot, an anthropomorphic polar bear named Pecan. This bear was also on the front of Elli’s pink apron, which she wore over a light purple dress whose buttons barely held together over her giant boo—

“So what makes you want to work at an ice cream shop, Matt?” She tilted her head slightly.

“Well I’ve always liked ice cream…” he said, “There was this one place near my old orphanage where I would go whenever I was lonely, and the owners would always give me a free cone of their freshest flavor!”

Elli’s heart spilled over with emotion as she put a hand to her chest, “Oh… That’s so sweet. I’ll let you in on a little secret: I like to give out some free ice cream sometimes… You never know when people really need that.”

Matt smiled, “I’m sure you made many customers very happy!” The story about the ice cream shop was a blatant lie. Matt wasn’t even sure if there were any stand-alone parlors in London, but a sad anecdote never hurt anyone.

Elli suddenly clapped her hands together. “Alright! You wait here Matt, I’ll go check with… the… hiring manager! Be back in a jiffy~!” With that, Elli disappeared behind the ‘Staff Only’ door.

Alone in the room, Matt looked around. He wandered to the tables, then went behind the counter, looking over the ice cream flavors, each named with a polar bear related pun. Just then, the bells of the front door chimed.

A little girl holding the hand of what Matt presumed was her father ran into the parlor. She pressed her hands against the glass of the display, inspecting the ice cream.

She looked up at Matt and furrowed her brows. “Who are you? Where’s Elli?”

“She’s in the back,” he replied, “Can I get you something? I’m… possibly the new employee.”

“Oh… Okay!” The girl pulled her dad to the counter. “I want the Polar Bear Tracks, daddy.”

The man nodded at Matt, “Just one of those in a cone, please.”

“No problem,” Matt took the opportunity to ask some questions while he scooped the ice cream. “So are you Elli’s frequent customers?”

“We are,” the man said. “She’s such a nice girl. Sometimes I worry though, I notice she gives a lot of her products away for free, and there are often charity events that she hosts, with free ice cream. Not to mention the long winters lately…”

Matt plopped the ice cream into a cone, wrapping it with a napkin. “You’re saying this place may be going bankrupt…?”

The man chuckled, “I always thought we might come by one day to see a ‘foreclosed’ sign on the door. But it never happens. I guess she’s really good at budgeting.”

 _‘Interesting. So the Polar Parlor possibly has a second stream of income…’_ Matt thought, as he handed the ice cream cone to the girl.

“Say ‘thank you,’ Lizzy,” the man put some change on the counter.

“Thank you!” The girl took the cone and skipped out of the store.

“Take care,” the man tipped his hat, “say ‘hi’ to Elli for me.”

Matt nodded, “will do!” and watched as the two of them left the parlor. He looked at the money on the counter, then at the cash register. Unsure of how to use it, he just pushed the coins aside. He walked over to the other side of the room, to a large corkboard hanging from the opposite wall.

In cut-out block letters, the words ‘Community Corner’ were taped to the top of the board. Many papers were pinned onto the corkboard with tacs, ranging from an adoption drive at a local animal shelter to a food bank fundraiser to a cancer drive marathon. There were also various drawings, brought in by young customers, of the polar bear mascot, as well as a few of, presumably, Elli.

Matt smiled a bit to himself – there was no way this place was involved in illegal activity. Elli was obviously a kindred spirit. Perhaps she was getting the money to run the shop through other means: maybe she got a large inheritance or won the lottery. Either way, the place he was looking for was not here.

He would have to investigate around the area but in the meantime, he might as well make some extra money. He didn’t bring too much with him to New York, thinking he wouldn’t need to stay long. He hadn’t considered a mistake in his research.

As Matt continued to read the community flyers, Elli came out from behind the staff door.

“Hey, I’m back!” She made her way towards Matt. Behind her was a young man, around her age but a bit older, with blond hair that fell to his shoulders and piercing blue eyes. “I brought the hiring manager!” She smiled, patting the other on the back.

Matt looked up. He was much shorter than this ‘hiring manager,’ and a bit intimidated by the fierce look in his eyes. “Um… Hello, I’m Matt.”

“…Hello, Matt,” the man said holding a hand out, “I’m Mello.”

 

_To be continued…._


	2. The Team

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a filler about the pasts of Mello's team: Elli, Nick, Lucy and Mike.

**-Part 2-**

When Mello had first acquired the Newspaper, he knew immediately that business plans were going to change. Up to that point, the “Manhattan Mafia,” as it was so crudely nicknamed by the media, was involved in a whole range of activities. Frankly, the group didn’t even have an official name. They had ties to narcotics trafficking, black market weaponry, underground organ donations, money laundering, et cetera.

The third day after finding the Newspaper, Mello had planned on gathering his faithful team to tell them the new course of action. Mainly, the switch from all that miscellaneous stuff to insider trading. He had decided early on that he would keep the Newspaper to himself – mostly because he was afraid they’d think him crazy for believing a fortune-telling newspaper. All he planned on telling them was that he’d acquired new, and very useful, information on the stock market.

It wasn’t that Mello didn’t trust them. Similarly, the four members of his team trusted him as well. He just didn’t want to complicate things further.

The team consisted of Elli, Mike, Lucy, and Nick. Elli, of course, was the blonde fun-loving girl in charge of the Polar Parlor. Mike, a lighthearted and somewhat goofy man, was Mello’s trusted sidekick. Lucy was a force to be reckoned with – a quiet and ruthless killer, her bright pink hair was no reflection of her personality. Lastly, there was Nick, a trusted ex-gang member who worked with Elli on the finances and was also in charge of supplying inventory.

The four of them waited to hear the reason behind this sudden meeting.

“So,” Mello said, breaking the silence, “we are about to set course in a new direction. One that will make us a _lot_ of money.”

He looked first to Elli, who seemed the most intrigued.

“Oh? That’s great!” She put her hands together, “Always good news to hear.”

Mello smiled to himself. Elli was the second addition to his team in the early days, joining shortly after Mike. Elise René was her real name, but these days she just went as ‘Elli.’ Although you’d never be able to tell just by looking at her, she had a long history of crime behind her. She’d never killed anybody, oh no, but otherwise she’s tried everything under moon.

He still remembers looking over her government case file, the two of them laughing over the (un)flattering photograph of her with a stolen baseball bat, and then subsequently destroying all evidence of her records. Good times…

**-Elise “Elli” René-**

 

Mello had met Elli, of all places, in a monastery.

She did not fit in very well among the other nuns with her bright hair, cheerful melodic voice, and, well, her figure. However, she operated out of the monastery for several months, successfully running an underground gambling ring.

Not many people know this, but the Catholic Church has a _long_ history of illicit gambling practices, dating back to the very first Popes. Although illegal since the 1800s, the gambling continued throughout the years. For whatever reason, a spike in popularity brought more people than ever to the underground poker tables, and Elli quickly jumped at the opportunity.

She hadn’t always been a criminal, however. Once, over a shared mug of bubble tea, Elli told Mello her story.

She was eighteen years old when she met _him_. Although she never told Mello his name, she occasionally slipped up during her recollection and used the name ‘Miles.’ Anyway, she told Mello how she began a law internship at a prosecutor’s office in Washington during her years in university. She was young and eager to learn, with a dream of someday becoming a pro-bono server of justice, protecting the innocent from crime.

Ironic, isn’t it?

She had hoped to intern at a defense attorney’s office, but she wasn’t one to turn down a job at her age. So when a spot opened up with the Crown, she happily agreed. She worked directly under one the of the country’s most successful prosecutors as an assistant, and followed him everywhere for the duration of her internship.

Elli quickly fell head over heels for this man.

“I’m not talking, like, chick-flick love,” she had said to Mello that day, “I would seriously do anything for him. I’d give my life for him.” She paused, “…He was everything to me.”

And everything, he was. This prosecutor was well known among his peers and rivals, and Elli had heard her fair share or rumours about him prior to starting her internship. Rumours like falsified evidence to maintain a perfect guilty record. Rumours like manipulating judges and twisting the words of witnesses to make his case. Rumours like that.

Of course, Elli didn’t believe a single one. Love does that to you – it forcefully changes your sight to be tinted with rose-coloured illusions of perfection. He took her breath away.

Everything from murder trials to crime scene investigations to late night closing arguments, Elli stayed by his side. Because of the job, Elli had made a few enemies and lost many friends, but none of it mattered to her.

The end to this story came on a hot August day. The streets of Washington were enveloped in riots due to a foreign ambassador that was not allowed to attend a G-Summit meeting with the president. For almost an entire day, stores were looted, cars were stolen, homes were broken into – it was chaos. An electronic superstore was robbed of its most valuable devices. A jewelry store, housing some of the world’s rarest quartz diamonds and pearls, was also demolished and robbed.

In an unpredictable turn of events, Elli was framed.

She was in the wrong place at the wrong time and her name and address fell into the hands of an envious rival. Taken into custody the following morning, Elli waited confidently for her mentor to arrive and bail her out. Surely he would believe her. Surely they would have a hearty laugh about this, after he bailed her out and defended her name in court. Then they could walk off into the sunset together.

But he did not defend her. He did not believe her story.

Elli’s heart shattered into a million pieces that day. She stood at the defendant’s podium, repeating her name; _Elise René_ ,

Repeating her claim;

_not guilty,_

_not guilty,_ _your honor_ _,_

_I was_ **_framed_ ** _,_

_Elise René,_

_not_ _guilty_

_not_ _guilty_

 **_not_ ** **_guilty_ **

****

**_not guilty_ **

**_not guilty!_ **

 

Her heart ached. To make the situation even more unbearable, the prosecutor assigned to the case was none other than her mentor. The man she had fallen in love with now stood under the spotlight of the court, accusing her of injustice. With every remark, he shot a bullet through her heart.

_‘Where were you that day?’_

_‘I was at home, watching the news!’_

_‘Why was your student ID found at the scene?’_

_‘I told you, I was **framed**!’_

_‘Who would have motive to frame you?’_

_‘I-I don’t know!’_

_‘Your honor, I would like to enter a new piece of evidence.’_

_‘What is that?!’_

_‘Security footage of you at the scene, miss René.’_

_‘But…_ _I was never there…_ _’_

 

Elli’s breaking moment was when she realized that he was using falsified evidence against her. _The rumours were true_. He didn’t give a damn about her. He would do everything in his power to ensure that she was given a guilty verdict, because he believed her to be guilty of this crime.

That was all that she could take. In the middle of the night, with the help of some other inmates, Elli escaped. And she ran, never looking back. Her life as she knew it was over, thanks to this man. Everything she had worked for up until this moment was crushed in a single day. 

Mello had asked, with a clenched fist, “Why don’t you just tell me his name, Elli?! I can avenge you, you know that!”

Elli had looked down, tears threatening to gloss over her eyes. “That’s what I’m afraid of,” she said. “…I still love him.”

Upon destroying most records of her existence, Elli fled the state. After some time, she clandestinely got in touch with her family, and sent them away under witness protection to New Zealand. Apparently, she still contacts them once in a while, sending them money and updates on her life.

After becoming fugitive, Elli couldn’t very well pursue academics or work. So, ironically, she turned to a life of crime. With her knowledge of the legal system, Elli successfully exploited many loopholes over the years. She was a part of many smuggling rings, from opium to jewelry, and eventually found her place among poker chips and playing cards. From counting cards and proceeds, Elli discovered her talent for finances, turning deficit into surplus with the snap of her fingers.

The cards and green fuzzy tables and the dinging of slot machines were Elli’s muses. Her bubbly personality drew many newcomers to her casinos, and she soon found her way to the biggest underground rings of the Catholic Church. Donning nun’s robes, Elli accustomed herself with the disguise, bringing in money from the richest clergy in the country. It got dull after a while, but it was comfortable.

To gain access to the casino, you would have to find a nun at the St. Ambrose monastery, and say the key words:

_Did you bow to the Lord and repent today?_

To which Elli would answer:

_I won’t bruise my knees getting down to pray – won’t repent ‘til my judgment day._

Mello had heard rumours of a pretty blonde nun who could provide access to the best gambling scenes in the world. He had to see this for himself, wanting to get in on the action. This is how he met Elli. She was just shy of twenty at that time, and Mello quickly recognized that she was not at her full potential.

He offered her a job. She accepted. 

**\- - -**

Mello looked next to Nick, who was seated near Elli. He had a toothpick in his mouth, although he was not using it, and he wore the same white suit he always does, with a blue button-up shirt underneath.

Nick nodded in approval at Elli’s statement, “What’s the upgrade gonna be this time, chief?” He leaned back in his seat, “I hope it ain’t contract killing. That shit’s harder than it looks. Plus I hate getting blood on my clothes.”

Mello chuckled. Nick was the second-latest recruit, succeeded only by Lucy. He remembered vividly the day Nick joined his team…

**-Nicholas “Nick” Harrington-**

****

For as long as he could remember, Nick had lived his life as an outlaw. His father and his father’s father integrated Nick seamlessly into the gang life. San Francisco was the crime capital of California. Gangs ruled the streets, and reputation was everything.

Nick was in a gang known as the Arcana. Infamous for weaponry trading and contract killing, the group was unique in its hierarchal structure. There were only 78 members at any given time – and each was codenamed after a Tarot card. Upon completing a hit job, a single Tarot card would be left at the scene as a signature.

Nick’s grandfather was the Hierophant. He was in charge the maintenance and propagation of tradition and conventional beliefs, and anyone who went against these beliefs was shunned. Balance and conformity were the goals of the Hierophant, and neither positive nor negative is emphasized – only tradition matters.

His father was the Emperor – the archetypal Father, wise in the ways of the world and knowledgeable of how to live as part of a structure along with everyone else. He had a strong and powerful heart, as every father should, but he showed this side of himself through the imposition of strict guidelines and rules, as most fathers do.

With such predecessors, Nick had big shoes to fill. His role was the Magician, a powerful role responsible for theory and practice, logic and emotion, thought and action. He was a master of con artistry and illusion.

At his side was his lovely wife, the High Priestess, arguably the most difficult of the Arcana to qualify with words alone, because so much of her power and ability was veiled in mystery that it was difficult for anyone to fathom it all. She was a sight to behold; a dark-haired beauty with a slight Italian accent and the precision of a cobra – with all of the poison.

The two of them made a wonderful team. The Magician and the Priestess: illusion and grace. Nick’s wife was named Amelia – Nick called her ‘Amy’ and ‘my love,’ showering her with gifts and a lavish lifestyle. In return, Amelia hung off his arm, showering him with kisses and caresses. They were inseparable partners in crime, and their relationship was the envy of many.

Most envious of all was Nick’s younger brother – codenamed the Devil.

Devoured from the inside by jealousy, his brother grew to despise Nick because of his happiness. He envied his brother’s wealth, his comfort, his status.

It was five years ago, on June the 6th, that Nick came home to find his wife in bed with his brother.

It was on June the 7th that Nick beat his brother to death with a crowbar.

Murder of a fellow member was unforgivable by the Arcana. Despite the circumstances, and despite pleading to stay, Nick was banished from the only family he had ever known. He would have been killed if it weren’t for the high position of power held by his father.

And so, without a home, Nick left to wander the deserts of San Francisco. Pursued by the police, he soon went into hiding and made a living through hit jobs for shady clients.

He hated it.

Walking along a back-alley road one day, Nick accidently bumped into Mello, who had flown to California for a trade. Nick mumbled an apology and kept walking.

“Hey, did you drop this?” Mello had asked, holding up a Tarot card depicting the Magician.

Nick looked at the card, “…You can keep it.”

Mello squinted his eyes, trying to make out the art on the card in the darkness of the alley. “This is from Arcana, isn’t it? Are you a member?”

“Used to be.”

“Are you any good?”

“…Used to be.”

“…Wanna work for me?”

This was how Nick joined Mello’s team.

 

**\- - -**

At the far end of the couch sat Lucy, the second girl on his team and his latest recruit. She never said much and she wasn’t going to break her routine today. Mello and the others knew better than to push her for words.

Lucy was Mello’s killing machine. Although he himself was capable of handling a weapon, as was Nick, Mello left most of the dirty work to Lucy. To her, it was a second nature. She could rip a man’s head off with one hand. She could suffocate someone without batting an eyelash. She could gut a body without getting a speck of blood on her clothes.

Now as she sat on the couch in his office, she barely looked up when Mello made his announcement. Money didn’t matter to her and it never did.

What mattered to Lucy was tranquility, and the feeling of being at ease. She was vicious, cold, cruel, and unbelievably strong – and yet she feared and hated people. She feared men.

Mello was not afraid of her, nor was he a threat to her. She held him in such a respect that her loyalty would never waiver. And although fond of Elli and cautious of Nick, the only other person by whom Lucy felt most accepted was Mike.

This was how they met.

 

**\- Lucy -**

 

Lucy was, to put it in Layman’s terms, the result of an experiment.

The Global Coalition, together with the US and German army, established a secret project known as the NL-9000 in 2006. ‘NL’ stood for Nano- Laqueum, meaning ‘microscopic trap’. Using nanotechnology, military science was ready to experiment with a new weapon.

Nanobots have always been promising in the field of combat due to their ability to effectively act as an extra set of programmable white cells. Such research, of course, was very controversial and expensive. Luckily, the military had both secrecy and wealth.

The NL-9000 project gave birth to H.O.R.N. – Hyper-Operational Restorative Neurons. Nicknamed ‘horns,’ this device was a matching set of white, nano-powered antenna, which were in the shape of small pyramidal horns. To function, the horns needed to be surgically fused to the skull of a human being, after which the Nanobots would gain access to the host’s brain and electrical neuron energy.

With full power, the horns grant their host an unfathomably strong immune system and metabolism. Microscopic bots can rush to the site of a wound in milliseconds, and are able to close it, on average, 230% faster than the average human leukocyte. Additionally, muscle development is rapidly increased, allowed to host to achieve unbelievable strength.

Lucy was NL-9009: the ninth subject to be fused with horns. She was also the last.

For this project to begin its testing, the scientists needed humans. Lucy was a refugee from North-East Asia, her memories and past were taken from her. Wiped clean by amnestics, like a new doll straight out of the box, she was given the name ‘Lucy’ by the scientists who awoke her from a coma. All of the NL-9000 subjects had been given names with ‘L.’

With no memory of who she was or how she got there, Lucy found herself upon an operating table. The horns had been fused to her skull, on either side of the top of her head, almost resembling cat ears. Before she had a chance to ask where she was, she was taken to training.

Four of the nine NL-9000 subjects expired during or shortly after the fusing procedure. One had accidentally killed himself due to a malfunction of the horns. Lucy and three others were deemed a success. The scientists had to test the limits of the subjects’ new bodies.

In trained combat, Lucy endured a series of life threatening injuries. The Nanobots from the horns on her head were able to keep her alive through bullet holes, bayonet wounds, immolation, amputation, and stepping on landmines. Despite suffering incredible pain, the continual injuries made her regenerative strength more and more powerful, and her physical strength was increasing as well.

She was deemed ready for the battlefield.

Lucy got transferred to a Mobile Task Force (MTF-24) on the west coast, which was constantly at war with various groups of interest. Preceded by the news of her successful training with the new technology, she was quickly put on the front lines. At that time, the researchers behind the NL-9000 project were not yet aware of side effects or potential dangers to the host.

In a freak accident of friendly fire, a stray bullet hit Lucy’s right horn, cracking off about half a centimeter from its tip. She fell unconscious immediately. For a few days after that, Lucy had to be monitored. The wounds she had gotten the day of the crack took longer to heal. For about 48 hours she couldn’t even walk.

The first night in the intensive care unit on the military base, Lucy was raped.

Unable to fully register the sounds outside her tent, Lucy had woken up that night in a cold sweat. One by one, a group of male soldiers from the task force snuck their way inside. Lucy could count at least ten of them. One held his hand over her mouth while two others held her down.

That was the night Lucy lost her humanity. Any shreds of compassion or empathy that may have developed in her heart were instantly frozen over under a dark blanket of stone.

She was still unable to walk on the second day. On the third day, it seems, the unbroken horn had doubled its capacity and Lucy’s abilities were fully restored.

The head scientist behind the NL-9000 project received an unplanned phone call from the captain of the MTF from the west coast that afternoon. The captain told him with a shaky voice that the project has to be shut down.

He explained frantically that NL-9009, in a disillusioned state of rage, had dismembered at least ten members of his task force. Without any weapons, words, or warnings.

When the scientist, taken aback by this news, asked the captain to repeat himself, the line was already dead. As was the captain.

The NL-9000 project was disbanded immediately. The other three subjects were terminated and all of the information regarding the H.O.R.N. technology was destroyed. Lucy was the only NL-9000 subject remaining in the world.

She escaped the military facility and walked for miles and miles until she reached human civilization. Noting that the horns on her head attract unwanted attention, she kept them hidden with hats. She had no idea how to live a normal life. She had no one. She had manifested a fear of, and hatred for, humans.

She was alone. And loneliness is the ultimate poverty.

**-Michael “Mike” Truman-**

Mike grew up in a happy family. It wasn’t a large family by any means – just him, his sister Marcia, who was five years his senior, and their father, Charley. Mike had never known his mother, who had apparently left shortly after his birth, taking off with someone else. Marcia remembered her only vaguely, but the two of them were more than happy being raised by their father.

Charley cared for his kids more than anything else in the world and ensured that they had a good childhood. The three of them did everything together – they went to parks for picnics, to zoos, to the lake – something new almost every weekend. Charley worked as a teacher at a college, and tried his best to manage his work hours and home hours.

Marcia and Mike went to school and camp together, and they were inseparable. Marcia, the brave older sister, pulled Mike around by the hand, defending him from the dangers of the world. Mike, a reliable brother and friend, was always there for his sister when she needed to talk. They had no secrets.

When Mike was 12 and his sister was 17, their father got sick.

ALS, amyotrophic lateral sclerosis, otherwise known as Lou Gehrig’s disease, is a rare and terrible affliction. Invariably fatal and rapidly progressive, ALS attacks the neurons that control voluntary muscle movement, inevitably leaving its victim trapped in the motionless shell of a useless body. Unable to function, the muscles gradually weaken and waste away.

Charley was diagnosed after he went to the doctor complaining of weakness and difficulty swallowing. He was given a prognosis of less than three years.

Mike will never forget the moment he heard those words. He was sitting on the couch with his sister, across from his dad and a man in a doctor’s lab coat.

_“Your father is sick.”_

_“There is no cure for ALS.”_

_“Less than three years.”_

As the weeks progressed, Mike and Marcia started to become aware of their father’s rapidly degenerating health. It began with a cane, then a walker, then a wheelchair. He could no longer button his shirts. He could no longer teach. He could no longer eat solid foods.

With each passing month, more and more unwanted additions were made to the household. An IV drip. A caretaker. A breathing machine. A heart monitor.

In two years, their father was no longer able to speak. At 14 years old, Mike knew the inevitable fate that was approaching his only parent. Following the muscles of the abdomen, the disease would attack the muscle of the lungs. Ultimately, ALS always leads to death by suffocation.

Throughout the whole ordeal, the family had gotten even closer. It’s amazing the love humans are capable of when precious time ticks away from them. 

When Charley finally passed, it was a painless death in his sleep. Mike and Marcia were by his side, but they did not cry. Having already said their goodbyes and cried out their hearts, they were ready for the moment when it came.

Marcia, who was now 19, took on the responsibility of caring for herself and for Mike. She put college on hold until Mike finished high school and worked at a coffee shop in the mean time to pay the rent and cover the sky-high medical bills. She never complained and never accepted any help. The death of their father hit her brother much harder – she had to be his rock.

In a couple of years, Mike graduated and went to college. Marcia had decided to stay at the coffee shop, where she soon became the manager. Mike was on his way to achieving a journalist degree when Marcia met Joseph.

Joseph was a doctor at the local hospital. He frequented the coffee shop and became quite infatuated with Marcia – the two of them hit it off right away. He was a kind man, and treated Marcia like a princess. Mike was put off by the fact that someone else was taking his sister’s attention, but upon realizing that Joseph was worthy of her, they became close.

In a couple more years, Mike watched with tears in his eyes as his beloved sister got married. They lived in a nice, large house now, a luxury that the siblings had never known. At 19, Mike was saving up money to move out but Joseph insisted he stay with him and Marcia.

Then Layla was born. She had Marcia’s button nose and Joseph’s curly hair, and she had the whole world reflecting from her big chocolate-coloured eyes. Mike, of course, became the designated babysitter.

He loved Layla to death. When her first words, instead of ‘ma-ma,’ were ‘mi-mi,’ Mike was ecstatic. He would take her everywhere, with her parents’ permission, and he would shower her with toys and attention. He was in a happy family once more.

But of course, all good things must come to an end.

This is how, on Christmas Eve, Mike wound up on a roof, ready to jump.

Mike had been on a business trip – covering a story in Maryland on some Christmas charity fundraiser. Since it was Christmas Eve, he had wanted to take the day off, but his boss wouldn’t allow it. Instead, he tried to finish up his work as quickly as possible and get home to have dinner with his family.

He picked up a large stuffed rabbit for Layla. He wrapped it haphazardly in purple paper, fit with a bow. He had bought a bracelet for Marcia. A watch for Joseph.

As he wondered what they may have gotten him, he put his key into the lock on the door. When the door swung open, unlocked, Mike stepped in slowly.

_Why is the door unlocked?_

The smell of iron hit him like a gust of wind that picks up when a train speeds by on a platform. What smell was this?

_Blood? Is this **blood?**_

His heart began to race as he dropped his bags on the floor. His eyes darted around the living room.

_Joseph?_

_Marcia?_

His gaze moved downwards to the wooden parquet floor. Bloodied footprints led out of the room and up the stairs.

_Layla?_

_Marcia?_

_Where are you?_

In a daze, he made his way past the decorated tree and to the stairs. The beating of his heart echoed through his ears, pulsing with an unspeakable fear.

The footprints led him to the bedroom.

_Marcia, please answer me!_

The bedroom door swung open.

_Oh God…_

_No…_

_ _

Their deaths were immediately ruled as a homicide. When Mike had found them, his sister and her baby were still breathing. In a few minutes, they were no longer. They had been stabbed multiple times – there was no hope.

From that point on, Mike wandered aimlessly in a haze. He developped severe depression. Not a moment went by when he wasn’t thinking about things he could have done that day that could have prevented the deaths of his family.

_I should have stayed home. I should have come back earlier. I should have – I should have – I should have – I should have – I should have – I…….._

He hadn’t noticed the flights of stairs beneath his feet. Suddenly, he was on a roof.

Now, luckily or unluckily, people were around that day. His suicide was prevented and, against his wishes, he started therapy. It didn’t last too long though, as the money he had quickly ran out after the burial plots and the funerals were paid for. Having lost all sense of caring for his own life, Mike ended up on the street.

It was a cold February morning in Boston. The snow was relentless, blanketing the streets with a ghastly white. Mike sat on a bench, shivering in the cold.

“Hey. You hungry?”

Mike thought he heard a voice. Was someone talking? Surely not to him.

“ **Hey** , I said! You deaf, too?”

Mike looked up at last, figuring that yes, the voice was addressing him. A young man stood before him, his face mostly concealed by a scarf and the hood of his parka. He was holding a tray with two coffees and a sandwich.

Mike blinked, “This is for me…?”

The young man pushed some snow off the bench and sat down, placing the coffees beside him. “Yeah, you looked pretty pathetic out here. I felt like doing a good deed today.” He held out the sandwich, “Plus, I’m a little lonely.”

Taking the sandwich carefully, Mike stared blankly at the person before him. “Lonely? I can relate to that…”

“What’s your name?” he asked.

“… It’s Mike. Yours?”

“Mello.”

This was how Mello recruited the first member of his team. Since their initial encounter, Mike followed Mello around like a loyal puppy. He had no idea why this person wanted to give him a new chance in his life, but Mike didn’t question it. He saw it as a sign from the heavens that life goes on, and he must go on with it. For happiness one needs security, but joy can spring like a flower even from the cliffs of despair.

As time went on, the two of them formed a close friendship. Mike didn’t know much about Mello, but he gathered something about a mafia, something about ‘branching off,’ something about ‘I’ll show them all, I’ll become the best.’

Mike’s positivity and kindness played as a perfect foil to his new boss. Over the years, they recruited more and more people – Elli, Nick, some others in different locations. Mike remained Mello’s right-hand man through it all.

A stronger believer of karma, Mike did whatever he could to help people he met. It was his way of thanking fate for sending Mello to him. This sort of pay-it-forward attitude was how he lived his life. So when he witnessed a group of people harassing a girl on the street, he knew he had to do something.

He had been sent on an errand to get some supplies. On his way back to the base, Mike heard a commotion and followed the sound. As he approached the gathering crowd, he saw that the group had formed a circle around two people – one was a man on the ground, and the other was a young woman standing over him.

Those gathered around were shouting things like;

_You’re a monster! You killed him! Someone call the cops!_

The young woman in the middle was being shoved; parts of her clothes were torn and her face was concealed by her own two hands.

She had brilliantly bright pink hair.

As Mike got closer, he noticed that she was saying something.

 

 _get away from me_                                                                                                                                 get away from me

                                               **get away**                                                                            get away                     

                                                         get away          

        **get away from me                                                                          get away**

 

                              get away                                      _get away from me_

                                                                       get away from me                                                                                                             _please_

                **get away**

                                                 get away from me                                                           ** _please_**

get away                         

                                                                                          _get away from me_

 

She was trembling – but Mike couldn’t tell if it was from fear or rage, or both. He knew he had to do something, anything, to help her. He reached into his inner jacket pocket and took out a gun (provided courtesy of Nick), shooting it into the air.

The crowd instantly quieted. Next, he took out a police badge (obtained courtesy of Elli) and made his way towards the middle.

“Everyone, back away!” His voice boomed, “I am a police officer. I will handle things from here, please leave the scene.” Then he added, “ **NOW.** ”

As the mob began to disperse, he went over to the girl, who still had her hands obscuring her face.

“Hey, it’s ok,” he said in a whisper, “I’m not really a cop. But you gotta play along, alright? I’m gonna take your arm and pretend to lead you away. Do you understand?”

The young woman looked up but avoided his gaze. She had radiant ruby eyes, hidden slightly by her hair and a winter hat. She gave a small nod.

Mike took her by the arm lightly and, speaking loudly said, “I’m takin’ you down to the precinct, missy!”

When they were a safe distance from the scene, and when the sound of police sirens was faint, Mike let go. The girl stepped back a few steps, looking down. She adjusted the hat on her head and wiped some blood from the back of her hand onto her dress. Mike didn’t know whose blood it was, but before he could say anything, the girl ran off.

“Wait!” Mike called after her, “At least tell me your name..!” But she was already gone, faster than he had expected her to run.

A couple of days went by.

Mike was sitting in a pub, at a window-side table, with Nick. Mike could no longer go into coffee shops – they all reminded him of his sister. Nick insisted that they get drinks, so here they were, getting drinks.

“And so I told ‘im, ‘listen man, you’re gonna pay up one way or another,’” Nick was recounting some story, waving his hand around dramatically. “And the bastard pulls a gun on me! Can you believe… that…?” Nick’s face contorted into confusion as he looked out at the window behind Mike.

“Nick? What’s wrong?” Mike put his beer down.

“Uh…” Nick pointed to the window, “I think that chick wants to tell you something?”

Mike spun around. The young woman from before had her hand pressed against the glass, staring at him.

“…I’ll be right back,” Mike said as he quickly got out of his seat and hurried out of the pub. The girl was waiting for him outside the door.

She had one hand behind her back, and was looking down again.

“Hello,” Mike smiled warmly, “we meet again! Why’d you run off before?”

The girl didn’t speak. Instead, she moved her hidden hand into sight, revealing a single yellow dandelion. She held it out to Mike.

Mike blinked. “Is that for me?” When the girl nodded slightly, he took the dandelion excitedly, smiling wider. “Why thank you! That’s very thoughtful!”

The girl shuffled her feet a bit, then turned to go.

“Wait!” Mike held the weed to his chest, “Please, just tell me your name! I’m Mike.”

“…Lucy,” she said quietly.

“Lucy,” he repeated. “Do you want to come in, Lucy? I can buy you a drink…!”

Lucy looked inside to the crowded pub and shook her head solemnly.

Mike scratched his head. “Well… Will I at least see you again?”

After giving it some thought, Lucy nodded. She then left as mysteriously as she had arrived at the pub.

Mike went back inside to the table. Nick shot him a funny look.

“The hell is that?” He asked, motioning to the dandelion in Mike’s hand.

“Something very special,” Mike said, taking his seat. “From someone very special.”

As time went by, Lucy appeared more and more around Mike. She never said much, and he never minded. Eventually, she showed Mike the horns on her head, explaining that they make her different, and bad. That she hated them.

Later that day, Mike bought her a matching pair of purple silk ribbons, wrapped them around her horns carefully, and said she was perfect just the way she was.

 

**\- - -**

 

Mello looked at last to Mike, who sat alongside Lucy on the far end of the couch. Mike gave him two thumbs up.

“So then,” Mello continued, “here’s what were doing: stocks.”

Elli raised her hand. “How exactly does one _do_ stocks?”

Mello sighed, “We’re going to be profiting off them.”

“Wait,” Nick said, “we’re droppin’ the crime stuff to buy treasury bonds? That sounds hella boring, no offense.”

“Oh I can guarantee you,” Mello smiled, “this is plenty illegal.”

Mike shrugged, “I don’t see what’s so bad about doing legal stuff…”

Elli tilted her head, “So what exactly _are_ we doing?”

Mello took out a piece of paper and a red pen. On it, he wrote down three things:

  

“Basically,” Mello said, “I have information that these stocks will increase by these percentages overnight.”

“That’s impossible.” Nick shook his head, “You’re going on a hunch?”

But the following morning, Bank of America stock, Pfizer stock, and Intel stock saw an increase of share worth. By the exact percentages that Mello predicted.

Thus the insider trading business had begun for the ‘Manhattan Mafia.’


	3. Investigation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Matt starts working for the Polar Parlor to investigate. He soon finds out that his hunches about the place weren't all wrong.

**-Part 3-**

 

Matt wasn’t exactly sure how it happened, but he got the job. After answering a short series of odd questions from the odd hiring manager – who promptly left upon remembering that he forgot to do something important – Matt was once again alone in the parlor with Elli.

The whole day had been so overwhelming for Matt that he was nearly dozing off at the frosted pink counter. The strange blond man left Matt with an uneasy feeling although he couldn’t quite place it. Everything in the parlor, Elli included, was so normal and ordinary and this guy seemed out of place, so to speak.

 _'Mello,’_ Matt repeated the name in his head, _‘why does it sound familiar…?’_ He pushed the thought out of his head as he noticed Elli approaching him.

“Congrats on the job, hun!” She sat at the counter next to him. “And thanks for serving Lizzie and her dad; I’ll teach you how to use the cash register so don’t worry.”

Matt nodded, stifling a yawn. “So do I start today?”

Elli smiled, “You look a little tired, maybe tomorrow? Where do you live?”

Matt blinked, “Uh… I’m actually staying in a hotel right now.” He wracked his tired brain for a believable excuse, having completely forgotten to prepare one. “I wasn’t sure if I would get a job in New York, so I had to keep my options open, y’know?”

“Oh, you’re not from here, are you?” Elli nodded, “I did note a cute little accent on ya! Are you English?”

“…Yes.” Matt went along with it, “I’m going to school there and thought I’d make some money during the summer across the pond!”

“Well that’s fantastic,” she leaned back on her stool, “It’s always good to get experience! You know, there a small apartment across the street, above the hairdresser, I think they’re looking to rent. Why don’t you check it out?”

Matt looked out the window to the building across the street. “Sure, I’ll go talk to them now. Thanks for everything Elli!” As he got up to leave, Elli jumped out of her seat to give him a hug.

“See you tomorrow, hun!” She embraced Matt, drowning his head in her chest.

Upon being freed, Matt nodded furiously and hurried out of the parlor.

He wandered across the street to the hairdresser and soon secured the upstairs room for a fairly good price. He plopped down on the small bed in his new bedroom for the time being, and took a 5-hour nap.

Waking up in the evening, Matt emptied the contents of his backpack onto the bed. He set aside the laptop and a carton of cigarettes, and put away the few pieces of clothing he brought into the wooden drawers. He then hid the computer under the mattress, put the carton in his pocket, and set out to get some food.

Outside, he took in his new surroundings. With the setting of the sun, New York City was just starting to come alive. His apartment was within walking distance of Broadway and Central Park and all of the things in between. Lighting a smoke, he walked along the street until he reached a grocery store.

He gathered some basic ingredients and a bunch of junk food, as well as necessities like toilet paper and toothpaste. On his walk back, he stopped in front of an electronics store display of TVs. The sliding headline was, “Warren Buffet strikes gold on commodities market.”

Matt furrowed his brow, watching the news unfold. A ginger-haired woman was Skype interviewing the Berkshire-Hathaway billionaire on CNN.

“This is quite remarkable Mr. Buffet – how much did you say you made?”

“Thank you Susan, and the rounded sum is $18 million, from what I recall.”

“Eighteen million! Wow! What is your secret? Forbes recently released an article about the volatility of gold on the commodities market, what made you decide to risk it?”

“Well Susan, let’s just say that I am a risk-taker.” The disgustingly rich man chuckled, the light in his huge study reflecting off the thousand-dollar cufflinks on his sleeves. “I try not to let frivolous claims get in my way. Something in my gut pulled me to gold, so I went for it.”

“Now, if anyone has any questions from Mr. Buffet, feel free to send a tweet to @SusanGreeneCNN on Twitter! We’ll read them out live.”

Nearly dropping his shopping bags, Matt fished out his phone and quickly typed in a message.

The newscaster held an iPad, scrolling through replies. “Oh, here’s a good one. This tweet was sent in from New York by user ‘stripesNcigs,’ who says: ‘is ur gut rly all u have 2 thank?’”

Warren Buffet chuckled, looking in the camera. “Let’s just say I have a guardian angel out there, helping me with my decisions.”

Matt frowned. Having seen enough, he walked back to this apartment. He had to stop these people from exploiting the stock market – it just wasn’t right. Especially because, as usual, it was only the rich getting richer. Didn’t this ‘Manhattan Mafia’ have any conscience at all?

He made some cup noodles and sat cross-legged on the bed in front of his laptop. He booted up the CSIS database and ran the location tracker again and again, using different links, to see if he had made a mistake. All of the searches led him back to the Polar Parlor.

“I just don’t get it…” Matt mumbled through his noodles. There was still the chance that the location was underground or somewhere nearby, with the coordinates being a few digits off. His plan was to stay here for a week or two to investigate and rule out all possible leads.

He lit another cigarette, staring absentmindedly at the screen.

“There’s no way the ice cream shop is the mafia… And Elli can’t be a part of it, no way…” He tapped his fingers against the keyboard. “But that other guy…”

What was up with that hiring manager? He certainly didn’t seem like the type to be involved with ice cream. Matt’s thoughts were interrupted by a beep from the computer.

“Oh shit,” he grumbled, opening up an encrypted program. He had totally forgotten to get in touch with his superiors about his sudden flight to New York and the reason for the sudden charges to his employee credit card.

 _‘This probably looks ridiculously suspicious,’_ he thought, booting up the software. _‘I hope they don’t fire me.’_

A black window enveloped the screen, with a tuner in the center. To completely encrypt all CSIS conversations, the agents used a satellite-radio transmitter to communicate. Matt waited for a radio signal, and then tuned the dial until it reached the current CSIS station: 140.85.

His boss was already waiting for him.

Matt sighed with relief. He was expecting something much worse than ‘good work,’ so this was a pleasant surprise.

Now approved for his investigation, and with a brand new vigor, Matt tucked the computer away under his mattress and walked back to the Polar Parlor for a second time. Now that HQ knew about his mission, he felt a lot more pressure to discover something – anything – about the Manhattan Mafia. 

He crossed the street and stealthily avoided the glass of the Parlor’s windows, hoping that Elli didn’t see him sneaking around. He went around to the side of the small pink building right after taking a picture of the front. 

In the alley at the side of the shop, Matt looked around. It was pretty standard – some empty brown boxes, a large dumpster, a staff-only entry door, locked with a scanner, and somebody’s bicycle. The dumpster was full of milk jugs and empty ice cream tubs. Matt peered in for a closer look.

“Chocolate wrappers…?” He thought back to the interior, “But the parlor doesn’t sell candy bars…” He carefully fished out a wrapper with a gloved hand and put it in his bag. Stepping back from the dumpster, he heard the sound of approaching footsteps and quickly hid behind the wall.

A woman in a red dress entered the alley from the other side, walking over to the staff door. She wore a green hat which covered her pink hair, and was soon followed by a black-haired man in jeans and a tan jacket.

Matt prepared a camera and watched silently as the door of them made their way to the locked door. The pink-haired woman held a large garbage bag and when she stepped, something clinked inside it. She tossed the bag into the dumpster with ease as her companion took out a keycard.

 _‘Are these other employees?’_ Matt thought, _‘Elli doesn’t work alone?’_

“You hungry, Lucy?” The man asked, pressed his card against the scanner. “There’s this really cool Mexican place I found the other day on 77th street, I think you’d really like it! The stuff is a little spicy but the beans are super good. Although I was farting for like, ever, after eating there… You wanna go?”

The young woman shook her head absentmindedly and then suddenly turned to the wall behind which Matt was hiding, just as he snapped a quick photo of her.

Matt held his breath.

“Lucy? What’s wrong?” The door beeped and opened, but the man stood just outside of it, looking at the pink-haired girl worriedly.

She hesitated, watching the end of the wall attentively. “…Nothing. I thought I saw something.” With that, she walked inside. The man followed her, shutting the door.

Matt exhaled. How could she have possibly noticed him? He went back into the alley and stopped at the dumpster. What was inside that clinking garbage bag? Were these two Polar Parlor employees? They definitely seemed off – not looking like ice cream parlor employees whatsoever.

He hung his camera around his neck, leaned over the dumpster, and, holding his breath, pulled out the garbage bag that was just tossed in. Placing it on the ground, he carefully untied the knot and peered inside.

“What the…?” He furrowed his brow, taking out some of the contents of the bag. “Are these shotgun shells?” He held one up to the light of the street side lamp. It definitely looked like the casing of a bullet.

Matt stuffed a few in his pocket and tied the garbage bag again, putting it back in the dumpster.

“Maybe I’m on the right track after all.” He smiled to himself triumphantly and continued to look around. He scaled the building – the only entrance to the parlor, other than the front, was the staff-only door on the side. Once the two strangers went inside, the door shut instantly. It would be impossible to sneak in after them or to somehow stop the door from closing.

The building wasn’t connected to anything, but that didn’t mean it couldn’t have floors underground. He kneeled by the ground behind the parlor. If there _was_ more to the building hidden underneath, it was exceptionally hidden.

When he noticed that people around him were looking at him funny for poking at the ground behind an ice cream shop, Matt decided to call it a day. He went back to his apartment and wrote down his findings on a notepad, hiding it under the mattress along with his computer.

The next day, he went to work.

**-The Following Week-**

 

Matt had been working at the Polar Parlor for six days under Elli. She had taught him how to restock the inventory, how to blend milkshakes, how to decorate cakes, how to use the cash register and card machines, how to deal with unruly customers and she also gave him a Polar Parlor apron of his own.

She paid him more than he expected – fifteen bucks an hour – but was definitely not complaining about that, although it did heighten his suspicious about the source of the Parlor’s seemingly unlimited money. After a couple of days on the job however, Matt pushed the case back further and further in his mind.

On Wednesday, Elli had held a fundraiser on the patio of the Parlor, raising well over ten thousand dollars for a local children’s hospital. There was a karaoke contest and the winners would get a year’s supply of ice cream. Matt was in charge of storing the money and all of it did indeed, to his surprise, go to the hospital.

On Friday, Elli had left at lunch and Matt decided to follow her from a distance. Quite un-climactically, he followed her to a vet’s office, from which she emerged with another girl about her age, with brown hair and a German-Shepherd-looking mutt.

Matt followed as the two of them walked to an animal shelter where they stayed for the hour, washing and feeding the dogs. After that, Matt stopped following Elli, feeling terrible for doubting her kind intentions.

Now the next Thursday, Matt was fairly settled into the job. He and Elli shared a friendship akin to an older sister mentoring a younger brother. She often took him out for breakfasts, showing him around the area. Matt hadn’t seen any more of the two odd people from the alley – the black-haired man and the pink-haired woman – and had pretty much forgotten about the incident.

Occasionally a man in a white suit would pass through, heading straight to the employee access door. He once introduced himself to Matt as ‘Nick,’ but never mentioned his position in the Parlor. As for the ‘hiring manager,’ he would stop by from time to time to check on the store.

Matt noted that this irritated Elli, and once overheard her saying, “Why did you start coming out there all the time?”

To this, the man replied with a laugh that he was just “doing his job.”

At around two in the afternoon, as Matt was cleaning the tables, Elli’s cell phone rang.

“Hello?” She answered it, and then stayed silent for a while. “OK. I’m coming now.” She hung up and turned to Matt, “Sorry hun, emergency meeting! You can hold down the fort while I’m gone, right?”

Matt nodded, “Sure, I’ll be fine.”

“I’ll just be in the back! If you need me…” She hesitated. “Um, don’t need me. I’ll see you soon!” With that, Elli disappeared behind the ‘Staff Only’ door. It closed gently behind her.

Matt finished cleaning the tables and went behind the counter to check on the ice cream supply. In a few minutes, the front door’s bell chimed and a woman walked inside and over to the counter.

“Hi,” she said, “can I buy a gift card? I want to give it to someone as a present.”

“Gift card?” Matt repeated. He never heard of such a thing, and Elli never told him about any gift cards. “Hm… I’m actually new here, so I need to check with my manager. She’s in the back.”

The woman crossed her arms. “I’m kind of in a hurry.”

“O-oh, hang on then, I’ll go see if I can find her.” Matt went over to the staff door and knocked. After no response, he pressed down on the handle and found that it was unlocked. He went through the door, closing it behind him, and found himself in a storage room with some empty boxes, clipboards of inventory checks, and a staff bathroom.

He looked around but Elli was nowhere to be found. Maybe she left through the side door? Matt scratched his head. The investigation instincts were switched on again.

He searched the entire room and lifted every box, but there was no trace of anything suspicious. He sighed, going back out to the counter. The angry lady had apparently left.

Matt shrugged, going back to the staff room to look for gift cards, just out of curiosity. He started searching a high shelf, and grabbed hold of something that felt like a card. Thinking he found one, he pulled on it.

But it didn’t allow itself to be pulled out. Instead, Matt felt a shallow rumble and an elevator emerged from the back wall. The tiles had split aside, revealing a button with a down arrow and silver elevator door.

Matt was taken aback.

“The Polar Parlor… _is_ a cover-up!” He nearly jumped with excitement and quickly pressed the elevator call button.

Without a noise announcing its arrival, the elevator doors opened up and Matt stepped in. The number pad went from ‘G’ to -15, with superstitious -13 missing.

Matt turned on the flash of his cell phone and shined it on the number buttons. There were three in particular that looked more worn than the rest: -1, -6, and -14. He started with the smallest and descended to the first basement floor.

The elevator doors opened and Matt stepped out into a hallway. The walls were placarded with heavy-duty metal and the ceiling lights shone with a bright luminescent glow.

“Whoa…” Matt marveled at the surroundings, “This hall must extend at least 100 feet…”

Large doors lined the walls, and Matt carefully checked them all one by one. They were all locked tight.

“Damn. Guess this isn’t the right floor.” He went back to the elevator and descended further to the sixth.

As soon as the elevator opened, Matt could hear people talking. He recognized one of the voices as Mello’s and immediately stepped out. This hall was not as long and not as threatening, ending with two wooden doors from behind which the voices could be heard.

Matt crept along the wall quietly, placing one foot in front of the other with the softness of a cat. As he approached the wooden doors, he could hear the voices clearer. He recognized another to be Elli’s. They were discussing something.

He pressed his ear up against the door carefully, trying to tune into the conversation. The person speaking currently was Mello, although in a tone that Matt hadn’t heard before during his stops in the shop.

“ – now there really isn’t much stock information but I think it would be possible to expand into the international market to grab the opportunity.”

“Would there need to be more liaisons in other locations?”

“Can we trust them?”

“What’s wrong with the NASDAQ system?”

“People are catching on – we need to spread out more.”

 

Matt was in awe. _‘This is it,’_ he thought, _‘it’s definitely them.’_

 

“Hang on a sec guys, I really need to take a piss.”

 

Before Matt had a chance to look up, the left door swung open with a mighty force and hit him right on the head. Stumbling back, the last thing he heard was a “what the fuck?!” before he blacked out.

 

**\---**

Nick nearly tripped over the fallen lump of a boy before his feet.

“What the fuck?!” He stepped over the body, “What’s he doing here?!”

Elli jumped up, “That’s Matt..!” She hurried over to the door, crouching down, “Oh no… Matt? Mattie?” She waved her hand in front of his face. “Anyone home?”

Nick crouched down too, “I think I knocked him out good.”

Getting up from his seat, Mello walked over to them as well. “What is he doing here? Did you show him how to access the lift, Elli?”

“No, no!” Elli raised her hands, proclaiming her innocence. “Never, I swear! He probably tried to find me in the back for whatever reason, poor boy.”

Mello furrowed his brow. “But the staff door is always locked. And the lever for the lift is well hidden.”

“Well, perhaps I _may_ have forgotten to lock the door…” Elli pondered, “As for the lever, maybe it was an accident?”

Nick turned Matt over so he was lying on his back. “Ouch, that’s gonna be a good bump.”

“Do you think he’ll be OK?” Elli asked worriedly.

Mike also made his way to the door, Lucy opting to stay behind. He kneeled by Matt, “I think it’ll just be a bruise. Unless Nick gave him a concussion!”

Elli gasped, “Don’t say that!”

“What should we do, boss?” Mike stood again, looking in Mello’s direction.

Mello leaned against the wall, crossing his arms. “I can’t help but feel a bit suspicious. Search him.”

Now it was Lucy’s turn to examine the young intruder, as she walked over to him silently, crouching down. She searched his clothes for anything removable in silence while the others waited.

She placed beside her on the floor a carton of cigarettes, a cell phone, a metro pass, a Polar Parlor napkin, a pack of gum and an apartment key.

“That’s all,” Lucy said, getting up.

“Oh my god,” Elli exclaimed, picking up the cigarettes. “He smokes! That’s awful!” She tossed them into the garbage can in the meeting room. “He’ll die young!”

Nick put his hands on his hips, “You never cared that I smoke.”

“I don’t care if you die, Nick.” Elli retorted.

Mello interrupted them by raising his hand. “Mike, check the phone.”

“Sure thing boss,” Mike picked up the cell, pressing the power button. “Samsung, nice. It doesn’t have a pass code.” He handed the phone over.

Mello examined it, “Hm.” Looking through the phone’s contents, he shrugged. “Nothing. I guess he’s not a threat after all.”

“I told you!” Elli patted the top of Matt’s head. “He’s a good employee. He got down here by accident, no doubt about it.”

“But what do we do now?” Mike looked back to the meeting room. “He probably heard something.”

Nick scoffed, “Oh please. You think this kid understands words like ‘stock market?’”

“Considering you didn’t understand them a month ago Nick, maybe you’ve got a point.” Elli chuckled.

“What, you’re actually agreeing with me?” He spat.

Mello sighed, handing the cell phone to Lucy. “Can you put everything back, Luce?”

“ _Except_ the cancer sticks!” Elli interjected.

Lucy nodded, returning all of Matt’s belongings to his pockets. She then picked up his unconscious body with ease.

“What should we do with him, chief?” Nick asked. “Just leave him in the parlor?”

Mello hesitated before answering, “No… Take him to my office and put him on the couch. I’d like to have a talk with him when he wakes up.”

Elli bit her lip. “You’re not gonna fire him, are you?”

Mello shook his head, “I just want to see how much he heard.”

She sounded worried, “And if he heard a lot? What are you gonna do?”

“Like Nick said, I doubt he understood much.” Mello looked to the motionless form in Lucy’s arms. “But if I determine him to be a threat, then… Well, we’ll see.”

“But he’s just a child!”

“That’s enough, Elli.” Mello started towards the elevator. “Lucy, my office.”

“What about the meeting, boss?” Mike went after them, following behind Lucy.

“We’ll resume it some other time.” With that, Mello and Lucy, with Matt in her arms, took the elevator down to the 14th floor.

Elli, Mike and Nick stayed by the meeting room.

“Unbelievable,” Elli huffed, “How can he be so suspicious of a kid?”

“You gotta admit Elli; it’s kinda strange that he found his way down here…” Mike said, sitting against the wall. “And on top of finding the elevator, he figured out which floor we’re on.”

“That’s not exactly hard to figure out! He probably just tried each floor until he heard us.” She said adamantly, “You don’t trust him either?”

Mike shrugged, “I don’t know him. He doesn’t seem like a spy though.”

“Maybe the boss doesn’t think he’s suspicious at all,” Nick said, “Maybe he just took a _liking_ to the kid. You know how he is.”

“God, Nick! Can you ever be appropriate?” Elli kicked him in the shin.

“Ow! I’m jus’ saying!” He rubbed his leg, “Better than terminating him, right?”

Elli signed, running a hand through her hair. “I guess we’ll find out.”

“Who knows?” Mike chimed in, “Maybe the kid will join our team?”

“Ha, right.” Nick laughed, “There’s _no way_ that will happen.”

 

**\---**

 

_It’s evening._

_Matt stands in a_ _colorless_ _hallway. The hallway is empty, lined with plain windows that threaten to crack from the_ _rain_ _that shatters upon them._

 _He begins to walk forward and each step feels as if it weighs a hundred pounds. The_ _marble_ _floor echoes his footsteps in a way that makes them seem much too loud._

 _Step_ _,_ _step_ _,_ _step_ _,_ _step_ _,_ _step_ _._

_There is a turn at the end of the hallway and the corners of the walls bend from the light. With the destination in mind, Matt tries to walk faster but it is impossible. A minute feels like an hour and an hour feels like a year._

_The rain patters harder; water starts to leak from the cracks in the glass but it doesn’t reach the_ _wooden_ _floors._

 _Finally turning the corner, Matt breathes a sigh of relief. There is a_ _golden_ _door visible at the end of the hall and it appears to be close; to be real._

 _The_ _black steel_ _door is large but not threateningly so. It is a vision of promise and a vision of hope and it’s oh so close at the end of the hallway._

 _The rays of the morning_ _sun_ _hit his face as his walk evolves into a run. His shoes hit the_ _marble_ _faster and faster – his lungs develop a dull ache from rapid breathing._

 _Run,_ _run_ _,_ _run_ _,_ _run_ _,_ **_run_ ** _._

 _At last, Matt stands in front of the_ _silver_ _door and it suddenly seems much larger and much more intimidating._

_Suddenly, he is hit with unspeakable fear. From beyond the door comes a knock. Faint and small, but he can hear it. And it’s coming from the door._

_The tattered handle of the door beckons him but he doesn’t want to open it._

_He wants to turn around and run back through the hallway, as far away from this door as possible. He looks back, but the hallway is no longer there._

_He’s facing infinite darkness and it threatens to swallow him whole if given the chance. His heart is beating unsteadily fast. He can’t go back._

_Instead, Matt reaches for the doorknob._

**_No_ ** _, he shouts, **I don’t want to open it!** _

_But he hasn’t a choice. His shaking hand grabs hold of the knob and after an eternity it turns in his grip._

_He knows what he will see once the door opens but he doesn’t want to know. It swings open and his world collapses from the sight that stands before him._

**_No,_ ** _he shouts,_ **_I don’t want to go in there!_ **

_But he hasn’t a choice. One foot steps in front of the other, again and again._

_Matt freezes as the walls start to shake and his head swarms with voices._

**_Stop_ ** _,_ _he calls out,_ **_who’s there?!_ **

_He’s shaking now, along with the walls, as the door shuts with a **bang**._

_A rumble echoes from behind him and he knows what he will feel in a heartbeat._

_Crimson flames envelop his body and the smoke chases after him like a burning shadow. He gasps for air as he speeds up and his eyes widen in terror._

_Less than ten steps in front of him, the floor falls away into water. The dark abyss swirls and clashes against the shaking walls as it rises higher_ _and_ _higher_ _._

_Matt is trapped and he can’t move. His feet are glued to the only step that hasn’t been engulfed in fire and hasn’t been drowned. His eyes shut as the ground beneath him collapses._

_And   he’s_

_f_

_a_

_l_

_l_

_i_

_n_

_g._

_He looks down and regrets it immediately. Awaiting him at the end of the fall are thousands of thousands featureless faces._

**_Please,_ ** _he begs,_ **_please let me go_ ** **_._ **

_He shuts his eyes again and prepares for the impact. He covers his ears but he can’t stop the shouting and screaming and crying that reverberates from the walls around him and resonates through his head._

_And all at once, he_

                              lands.                      

**\---**

                                                                

Matt jolted up with a gasp. His heart pounded intensely in his chest and his hair clung to the sweat on his face. He was on… a couch?

“Whoa kiddo, you’re as pale as a ghost. That’s some nightmare. You alright?”

Matt snapped back to reality, trying to locate the source of the voice. He rubbed his eyes and looked around the room. He was in an office. There was a large wooden desk at the opposite end of the room, and Mello was sitting on top of it, watching him intently with a curious look in his eyes.

“I’m… where?” Matt couldn’t speak in grammatically correct sentences just yet.

Mello chuckled, “You’re in my office. You hit your head, pretty hard I might add.”

Matt blinked. Slowly, the events of the day returned to his memory. Elli’s phone call, the woman, the gift cards, the elevator, the sixth basement floor. The conversation he overheard.

_The Manhattan Mafia._

He immediately assumed the worst. Here he was, in the office of, likely, the don. He was discovered in their hidden lair, eavesdropping on a meeting.

Preparing for the worst, Matt sat up. His hand instantly shot up to his aching head.

 _‘This is it,’_ he thought, _‘this is how I die.’_

 To Matt’s surprise, the voice of the presumed mafia boss was remarkably warm.

 “You want some water or something?”  Mello got up, “Chocolate milk? Juice?”

Matt nodded, immediately regretting it. “Some water… please.”

“Sure,” Mello poured a glass of water from a pitcher on his desk, handing it to Matt as he pulled up a chair to sit across from the couch.

Matt drank the water cautiously, studying the other man’s features. His face didn’t betray any emotions, and Matt couldn’t figure out whether the expression was kind, neutral or hostile.

They sat in a silence for a few moments. It was Mello who broke the stillness by clearing his throat.

“So, kid…” He sat back in the chair, “Let’s talk.”

Matt gulped, clutching the glass of water a little too tightly. “Okay…”

“I’d like you to tell me how you got down to the sixth floor. Be as thorough as possible in your recollections.” Mello’s voice was calm but intimidating.

“Well…” Matt started from the beginning, “Elli told me to watch the shop because she had to go to the back. Then this angry lady came in and she wanted to get a gift card. And I’m like, ‘we have gift cards?’ So I wanted to find Elli to ask her but she wasn’t in the back room.

“I decided to look around myself because the lady was in a hurry. I searched the shelves and there was something that felt like a card, so I pulled on it… Then the walls opened! I thought maybe Elli was on a different floor so I went down.”

Mello nodded slightly, “And the sixth floor?”

Matt didn’t want to reveal that he used the flash of his phone – it would seem like he was investigating. Which he was. “I just tried random floors till I heard someone talking.”

“I see…” Mello added, “And what, _exactly,_ did you hear of our conversation?”

Matt chose his words carefully, “Not much, it was pretty muffled. Something about stalks and ‘Naz Ducks?’” He put a finger to his chin, as if trying to remember.

Mello laughed, leaning back in the chair.

At this, Matt heaved a mental sigh of relief. He believed the story.

“ _Naz Ducks,_ huh?” Mello repeated. “What do you suppose that means?”

Matt shrugged innocently, “I dunno. Is it code for something?”

“Perhaps. Did you hear anything else?”

“Not really. What were you guys discussing?”

“Don’t worry about that.” Mello got up, walking over to his desk.

Matt felt like he had an opportunity here. He blurted out, “Are you really the Polar Parlor’s hiring manager? Why are there so many floors under an ice cream shop?”

The other man turned back, piqued with interest. “Oh? So you have your doubts, do you?”

“I-I mean no disrespect…” Matt fidgeted with the glass. “I just thought things like concealed elevators only existed in James Bond movies.”

“Why don’t you tell me what _you_ think, Matt?” Mello proposed. “If not an ice cream shop, what do you think this is?”

“Me?” Matt pointed at himself. “I dunno… Some kind of secret organization?”

Mello smiled. “Close.”

Matt stayed seated on the couch, taking in the situation. He wasn’t sure what to do from here – would Mello let him go? Would he erase his memory somehow? Would he kill him?

“Tell me, Matt… Do you have any worthwhile talents?”

As Mello said this, the younger boy started to pick up his tendency to use people’s names in conversation. Likely an intimidation tactic. He noted also the leather gloves that never leave his hands and a rosary around his neck. Was he religious?

“What do you mean?” Matt perplexed, trying again to read the other’s expression.

“I mean,” Mello continued, “You are a Polar Parlor employee. Which, by extension, makes you _my_ employee. Which, again by extension, makes you a part of the covert operations that run beneath the parlor’s floors.”

Matt couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “You… You’re recruiting me?”

“Oh silly me,” Mello shook his head lightheartedly. “You don’t even know what we do! How rude of me.” He smiled, _“We are the Manhattan Mafia.”_

**\- - -**

 

 Matt was ecstatic. He could not believe his luck. The Manhattan Mafia, opening their arms to him – an intelligence agent! He was certain to receive a huge bonus upon returning after his mission was completed.

He sat on his bed in front of his computer, still open to the radio transmission with his boss. He held an ice pack to the bump on his head. It was a small price to pay, he decided, for the opportunity it granted him.

Matt thanked his lucky stars that he didn’t have his camera on him when he was discovered, because the camera held pictures of the parlor and of the odd pink-haired lady from the alley. He figured they must have searched him, although he wasn’t sure why his smokes were missing. If they found the camera, he’d be dead.

Now he was busy documenting every piece of evidence he’d collected up to this point in his investigation.

A photo of the parlor, a photo of the pink-haired girl, some shells and a candy bar wrapper.

Matt frowned. It wasn’t much evidence.

He’d have to collect much more, before bringing this case before his superiors. He wished he could have recorded Mello’s confession, but it was too late for that now. He had to find out how they got the stock information. The chase had begun.


	4. Old Foes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Matt is included in a revenge mission against Mello's ex-boss, but things don't go quite as planned.

**-December, 2002-**

Pale snowflakes blanket the ground, shrouding the buildings, trees, and cars with an ashen white coat. The cold is merciless and unrelenting. Inside the town square, the large and imposing Christmas tree shines brilliantly despite Christmas having long since passed.

Flurries of piercing snow dance through the empty streets, picking up gusto in the narrow passageways. It is past midnight and the town is silent, save for the howling of the wind and the sounds of nightingales. 

A gramophone can be heard someone in the distance. The smell of cold and darkness hangs in the air. Footprints left in the snow are beginning to fade away, drowned by fresh layers. Along the prints stand tall streetlamps – illuminating the darkness with the dullness of a candle.

He walks down the path, broken but unscathed. Scars dress him like stripes; inside and out.

The light helplessly shines down the long and winding road. Only the night remains. Only night; just the night.

He is visibly unseen – hard to miss and yet impossible to notice, walking as a shadow towards nowhere in particular. By the old streetlight, now unused and broken, his remaining will shatters at his feet.

Screaming, screaming silently, thoughts mercilessly yelling over and over and over. Bound by silence. Bound by loneliness.

_How? How was this possible?_

An unbearable, darkening pain washes over. A howl echoes through the stillness of the night as stray blond locks fall over grieving blue eyes.

Those words repeated themselves in his mind.

The wrinkled face of the old director as he spoke those words was engraved in his memory.

The wretched silence from the figure behind him as he heard the words.

Three inescapable, haunting words.

_L is dead._

 

**-Present Day, 10:29 am-**

A knock sounded on the metal office door. Then, a voice through the intercom. “Boss? Lucy and I went to the Starbucks, y’know, the one she was banned from? The new manager was so scared; he gave us like a year’s supply. Want some?”

Mello pressed the door button without looking up from his papers, “Come in.”

The door hissed open and Mike walked inside with a tray of coffee cups, placing one on the large wooden desk. “It’s dark roast – hope ya don’t mind!”

“Thanks,” Mello said, taking the cup. “Anything to report?”

Mike sat down in a chair that was in front of the desk, taking a coffee for himself too. “Well, I think Elli finished up the year-end balance sheet yesterday. She said something about ‘surplus’ and some other words that I didn’t understand…”

“Mhm,” Mello still didn’t look up, “and what about Matt?”

“He’s doing well!” Mike said, “I think he set up some kind of new security system for the staff access door. Not sure how it works yet though and I got locked out a couple times… Other than that, I think—”

He was cut off by the sound of the door, which Mike had forgotten to close upon coming in, swinging open.

“I made a thing!” Matt exclaimed, running into the office. His shirt and some parts of his face were covered in ice cream.

Mello at last looked up, “Matt?”

“I made a thing!” Matt repeated excitedly, “A conveyor! Like a belt! Like a conveyor belt!” With that, he ran out again, disappearing down the hall.

Mike laughed, “Yeah, that was the other thing. Upgrading the parlor.”

Mello chuckled too, “I’ll go see that later.” He went back to his papers.

“What’re you working on?” Mike peered over the files.

“The international expansion,” Mello said. “I need to throw the feds off the New York trail. I think it’s time to sell information to bankers abroad – so even though it’s still the NY stock exchange, at least now it will be accessed from all over.”

“Wow boss,” Mike gaped, “How are you so smart?”

 

**-April, 2003-**

The first rays of the sun broke through the old window pane. The lump underneath the grey blankets stirred, pulling them up further over his head.

Another morning, another dawning of realization. This cursed orphanage, this tiny room, this miserable life.

After some time, with a yawn, the boy got up from his bed and lazily pulled on his school uniform. The ironed crest held an ornate ‘W’ with the insignia, ‘Wammy’s Home for Extraordinary Children’ engraved underneath. He winced as a screeching noise sounded from a small speaker in the corner of his room.

“Good morning all. I trust that you had a restful sleep. Breakfast will be served in 10 minutes; anyone who is late will not eat. That is all.”

He had heard this message every single morning for almost ten years.

“M, M! Are you awake yet?” A knock came from his bedroom door, “Are you coming to breakfast?”

“Soon,” he grumbled back at the voice, “I’ll be down soon, just piss off.” As he heard the footsteps retreating, the blond continued his morning routine.

He brushed his teeth and ran a comb through his hair. It was getting long but he didn’t care enough to get it cut. He blew the bangs out of his eyes and took out a small box from a drawer. From it, he pulled out a black and red rosary and hung it around his neck.

Eventually, he left his room and went down the stairs to the dining hall.

He bumped into the stomach of a tall old man, who towered over him.

“And where do you think you’re going, _boy_?”

He composed himself, taking a step back. “To _eat_ , Roger. Move.” His words came out like vinegar.

“I don’t think so,” the old man made a dramatic gesture of looking at his watch. “I distinctly remember saying that breakfast was to be served in ten minutes. That was eleven minutes ago.”

“So what?” Refusing to back down, the boy crossed his arms. Considering his current size, it was not too threatening of a move, unfortunately. “You’re not going to let me eat because I’m _one minute_ late?”

The man stared him down, “Punctuality is very important here. Not being punctual can lead to chaos. L is _always_ on time. Therefore if you are to succeed him then you must be on time too. Understand?”

“You mean L _was_ always on time.”

Roger’s eye twitched. “Watch your tone with me, boy.”

“Whatever. Can I just eat now?” He rolled his eyes.

“Absolutely not,” the man replied bitterly. “This is your punishment. Now I suggest you go to class early and think about what you’ve done. Be on time for lunch.”

Refusing to acknowledge the old man’s words, the blond turned on his heels and walked outside to the front yard of the orphanage. He kicked a can angrily, putting his hands in his pockets.

“Having a bad day, M?”

He turned around to see a white-haired boy sitting in an odd position at the side of a tree, piecing together a milk puzzle. He was shorter, about the same age, perhaps a bit younger.

“Not bad enough to want to talk to you, Near,” came the bitter reply.

“Oh, are we calling each other by our names now, Mello?” He twirled some white hair on his finger, “How unprofessional.”

Mello scoffed, “You just used _my_ name, hypocrite.”

“Yes, but I have no respect for trash,” Near stated matter-of-factly, “Besides, we both know that it will be me taking the spot of L’s successor. Frankly, I don’t know why you’re still trying.”

“What makes you so sure that you’ll be his successor, huh?” Mello’s hands curled into fists as he slowly approached the white-haired boy.

Near didn’t look up from his puzzle, “Because I have the highest grades in the Home. Not to mention that Roger actually likes me.”

“Oh yeah?” Mello bent down slightly to get in Near’s face. “If he likes you so much then why are you out here and not inside having breakfast with the others?”

“Isn’t it obvious? I already had breakfast with Roger,” Near said calmly.

“Liar!” In a single swift motion, Mello swiped the milk puzzle with his hand, sending the pieces flying in every direction.

Near blinked, “You don’t believe me? Well, that’s your problem. Either way, you might as well abandon your hopes of surpassing me.”

Mello had tuned him out, looking up at the sky as Near continued to talk.

“—and L himself said that he’d want someone who is calm and able to think rationally, even in stressful situations. That’s why my ability to contain my emotions makes me so much better than you, Mello. You get riled up over the smallest things; how can you possibly think you can succeed L? Hey, are you even listening to me?” Near furrowed his brows, “What in the world are you smiling about? Starving to death?”

“Today,” Mello paused, “is my birthday.”

Near was taken aback by this comment. “What?” He shook his head and sighed, “Whatever. See you later, number Two.” He got up abruptly and left.

Mello was once again alone. He went over to the tree Near was sitting by and sat under its shade.

“I’m 15 today,” He said no one in particular. He sat there for hours, missing two classes. He really didn’t care about trying to succeed L anymore – not in this way. The news of his death brought an end to all the hard work he had put in at the Home and he felt betrayed. These thoughts were interrupted by some voices.

“Hey, did’ja hear?” Two girls walked by him and headed towards the garden, “We’re getting some new people in.”

“Really? What a shame,” said the second girl to the first. Mello hadn’t bothered to remember their names. F and K maybe? F and O?

“Why’s that?” The first one asked her friend.

“Because I’m going to be the next L and they don’t stand a chance!” The other girl giggled and ran off.

“As if!” Her friend followed close behind.

Mello shrugged and went inside, wiping the grass stains from his pants. “New people, huh? I really couldn’t care less.” Mello mumbled to himself, as he bumped into Roger.

“Would you watch where you’re going?!” Roger pushed him back.

“Well maybe you shouldn’t be standing in the middle of the fuckin’ hallway!” Mello just wanted to get back to his room, avoiding interaction with any more people for the day.

“You little bra—”

“Roger.” He was cut off by an even older man who looked as fragile as a fallen leaf that could wither away at any moment.

“This place is just full of little kids and old farts,” Mello said bitterly, pushing his way past them.

Roger sighed, “Are they here, Mr. Wammy?”

“Indeed. The bus is pulling up as we speak.”

Mello quickly ran upstairs to his room. He wasn’t sure why he was so interested in the newcomers but he chalked it up to wanting to assess the competition.

He climbed out his window all the way up to the roof, watching as a bus made its way to the front of the Home. He could barely remember the day when he was first brought to the Home, probably taken in by a similar bus.

That was many years ago, and Mello did his best not to think about his life before the Wammy’s House. The lesser of two miseries.

He watched as the bus doors opened and a group of ten or so young kids hopped down the steps. Some looked scared and confused, while others looked relieved or even fascinated.

They each held a bag, probably with the entire contents of their belongings, and a folded Wammy’s House uniform that was likely given to them during the drive.

Mello’s eyes fell on a boy who came out of the bus last. He looked to be about five or six years old. He was a redhead, wearing a tattered striped shirt and torn pants, and he wore no shoes. In his left hand, he tightly gripped a handheld game.

 

**-Present Day, 1:28 pm-**

Matt was sitting up against the hallway wall outside of the office on the 14th basement floor. As has become customary for the past few weeks, Matt comes down to Mello’s office for 1:30 and the two of them go to lunch.

Despite Matt’s best efforts to obtain information for his investigation, the conversations always end up going on tangents about one thing or another. He tried to find out more about the other members, especially that pink-haired girl with the death glare, but all he learned was that no one was allowed to mess with her. Mostly, Mello ended up asking Matt questions about himself.

He still couldn’t quite place it, but something, definitely, was familiar about Mello. What it was though, Matt had no idea. He got up as the office door opened.

“Ready?” Mello stepped outside the door, closing it behind him.

“Yep!” Matt nodded, heading to the elevator and pressing the call button. “Where are we going today?”

“Wherever you’d like,” When the elevator arrived, Mello stepped in after Matt.

Matt went to press the ‘G’ button but then hesitated. “Say, what’s on all the other floors? I’ve been wondering for a while.”

“Curious, are we?” Mello smiled, “How about I give you a tour?” He pressed the button for the last floor below them.

The doors opened to the fifteenth basement floor hallway. It ended abruptly just a few feet from the elevator at a safe door that reached from the floor to the ceiling. The safe was immaculately spotless and reflected the floors and walls on its surface. It was locked with several mechanisms.

“Whoa…” Matt walked over to the safe, “Is this where all your money is?”

Mello shook his head, “Not all of it. But a good amount.”

“How much do you have here?” Matt asked eagerly. “Is this from Polar Parlor proceeds too?”

“Polar Parlor?” Mello laughed, “Elli doesn’t make a profit on that. No, this is exclusively dirty money. As for how much, well, that’s classified.”

 _‘Incredible,’_ Matt thought to himself, ‘ _How in the world did they get so rich?’_

 

**-June, 2006-**

It was an unusually windy morning when Mello ran away from the Wammy’s House. At 7:18 am London time, he left the country and never looked back.

When it was suggested that the optimal solution to L’s succession was for Near and Mello to work together, he had already made up his mind.

Rational thinking was not Mello’s strong suit.

He was only 17 when he arrived in America, with barely one hundred dollars in his pocket. He knew no one and had nothing to his name (which, by the way, wasn’t even ‘Mello’).

His purpose and motivation upon leaving the Home was not to succeed L but rather to surpass Near. He was determined to beat Near as his own game – mostly by becoming a better detective.

However, those motivations quickly leave one’s mind when poverty is a very possible and threatening reality. Mello’s thoughts had turned instead to survival. Although he could have always returned to the Wammy’s House, his pride would never let him have it.

It wasn’t difficult for Mello to figure out the sheer power of the criminal underworld – especially in New York. It had fascinated him and lured him into its clutches with the promise of riches and success. He made it his goal to join the mafia.

Now, it should be known that, despite what it may seem, the Wammy’s House does not raise detectives. It raises children into adults with no boundaries. What this means is that the so-called ‘graduates’ of Wammy’s House stop at nothing to achieve their objectives – this is the true purpose of the House.

Such qualities are meant to help create the world’s best detectives, but they can also be applied to entirely different situations.

Situations such as this one.

For Mello, it was not a question of _can_ he get into the mafia, but rather _how_ to get into the mafia. As with all Wammy alumni, he considered no resource too small or too precious to use to succeed. Which is why, to him, his body was just another resource.

After a few weeks of gathering information, Mello had his target.

Rod Ross was the name he went by in the underworld. His real name was Gordon Dwight, although no one was aware of that. Ross was a bald man in his late thirties and, at the time, the leader of the Brooklyn Mob – a powerful and unstoppable criminal force.

Upon tracking down his location, Mello formulated a plan. Posing as a clueless runaway, he ‘accidentally’ discovered Ross’ base. Of course, this was no accident, and Mello had made sure to look his best, so to speak, for the encounter.

Upon being captured and thrown down to Ross’ feet, Mello pleaded for the man to spare his life in exchange for Mello’s total secrecy and devotion. He added that he would do _anything_ so long as Ross didn’t kill him.

Unsurprisingly, Ross accepted that offer. Mello had done his research of course, and knew that the mobster had a weakness for blonds, for boys, and for leather.

Everything about Rod Ross revolted Mello. The way his too-strong cologne smelled; the way his voice boomed too loudly when he laughed; the way he didn’t bother wiping the blood off his shoes after a kill; the way his hands felt on Mello’s skin; the way his breath was too hot up against his neck; the way he— well, you get the picture.

Ross took Mello everywhere like a lapdog, showing him off to others akin to a trophy wife. Mello grew accustomed to faking smiles and accepting wine and holding onto Ross’ arm while the other played with his hair.

But, after time, Mello’s unwavering determination began to pay off.

He proved to be an asset to the mob, by bringing in valuable information and even more valuable clients. As the trust of his team grew, so too did his position of power. Thank to Ross’ place on the hierarchy and his favoritism towards Mello, he quickly rose to second in command.

Yes, he was young, but he was not by any means an amateur. The Brooklyn Mob expanded in size, enveloping the state of New York and reaching other parts of the country.

Mello commanded several branches while Ross was busy with the matters in Brooklyn, and he built up a loyalty and preference to himself over his superior.

He shared in the riches and became quite well known throughout the underworld that the mob controlled. Soon, he became more popular than Ross.

 

**-Present Day, 3:12 pm-**

After lunch, Mello went to the Polar Parlor, which was currently closed for renovations, to see the upgrades that Matt had made. Elli was behind the counter, wiping up the mass of spilled ice cream with paper towel.

“Need some help?” He motioned to the counter.

Elli wiped her brow with the back of her arm, “Nah, this is nothing. Matt, show him how it works.”

“Okay!” Matt nodded eagerly, running over to the lever. Just before reaching it, however, he took a mental pause. Why was he so excited? He didn’t want Mello’s approval on this, did he? No, no, he shook his head to himself, it’s all for show. He was undercover, after all. With that thought, he pulled the lever and the machine rumbled into action.

The conveyor belt ran the length of the back of the counter and made a perpendicular turn on the left side. Three ice cream machines pumped in sync, filling cups and cones with just the right amount.

At the end of the belt, a single pink spoon was placed in the cups and a napkin wrapped around the cones.

“Isn’t it marvelous, Melly?” Elli clasped her hands together, “This saves me so much work!”

Matt beamed, “I know it’s a little loud, but I’m working on that. This is just a beta test.” He looked to Mello, who had walked along the side of the belt but then stopped at the employee access door that led to the alley outside.

“The conveyor is neat, of course. I’m glad it can save Elli some grunt work,” he turned back to Matt, “but I am more interested in the security system you installed. Mike mentioned it to me this morning.”

“Oh, that,” Matt walked over to the door, a bit dejectedly. “It’s nothing really. Just a more advanced monitoring device and lock.” He input a code to a number pad on the wall, which revealed a small screen that flickered to life in an instant. “It’s a camera feed of the alley. So if someone needs to get in, you can see them.”

“Interesting,” Mello looked at the display approvingly. “What gave you the idea?”

Matt looked away, thinking back to his searches in the alley. “Well, I don’t know. Just seemed like a good idea.” The better idea, of course, was that he was the only one who could alter it, in case he had to sneak around again.

“Do you think you could recreate something like this on a larger scale?” Mello asked.

“I don’t see why not,” Matt shrugged, “how large?”

Mello just smiled, “Come with me.” He put his arm around Matt and led him back to the elevator. “Let’s just say it’s a storage facility.”

“A storage facility?” Matt repeated as the elevator descended to the 14th floor. “And it doesn’t have any security right now?”

“No, it does,” Mello said, “I just don’t have much faith in it.”

“Well I’ll see what I can do!” In the large office, Matt set up some computer equipment. Careful not to bring his own laptop, he modified the existing computers to suit his purposes.

Mello sat down behind the desk, watching Matt work.

“I need the location of the building,” Matt opened up some unfamiliar programs. “Also a password if there is one.”

“Hm,” Mello opened a locked drawer, looking through it. “The address is 2829 W 21st St. The password is 7637677.”

A single grainy camera display appeared on Matt’s screen, showing stacks of boxes and various containers, as well as two armed men in suits. The facility looked large, resembling an underground garage. A few fluorescent lights hung from the ceiling and rectangular columns lined the middle. The room looked virtually endless. “So you want me to upgrade this?”

Mello nodded, “Can you? I’m not too happy about the angle.”

“Let me just get into the security features.” Matt typed in some numbers, but an alert buzz sounded back when he pressed enter. “The password you gave me, it’s not working.”

“…Is that so.” Mello stood, going over to the side of the table where Matt was standing to get a look at the computer screen. “Can you do something about it?”

“Already on it,” Matt said with a grin, “Shouldn’t be hard to override. Whoever changed the password is an amateur.”

Mello watched the screen with interest, “Where did you learn how to do this, Matt?”

The boy hesitated. “I… Just sort of taught myself!” He opened a few more windows, typing away. “Alright, I should be able to have access now,” the camera feed began to flicker, “Oh… I think whoever changed the security also altered the footage.”

“What do you mean?”

“Look,” Matt pointed to the screen as the flicker faded away to a clear camera view of the warehouse.

Mello stiffened.

It was empty.

 

**-November, 2008-**

The putrid smell of gas lingered in the air.

“I’m bigger now,”

The floor was littered with bullet shells and bodies – some writhing, some not.

“I’m stronger now,”

Screams and curses echoed through the halls.

“My fingers curl,”

A man was pushed against a wall, fear reflecting in his eyes.

“They’re talons now.”

A hand grabs the front of the man’s shirt; “Don’t do this, Mello. How could you do this to me? I took you in!”

A scoff.

“Please take a bow, Ross,” the sound of a flicked lighter, “You know; I am _your_ work of art.”

The man shuddered at the sight before him. A beautiful devil with blond hair and lightning in his eyes.

“Are you going to kill me?”

“Why shouldn’t I?”

“I gave you everything!” It was a desperate tone; “I spoiled you rotten!”

A laugh.

“You’re right about the rotten part. And now I’m advancing, unassumed, with _dirty_ hands. Thanks to you.”

“Please, just spare my life! Have mercy on me. I’ll work for you.”

A plea.

A consideration.

“Beg some more. And I’ll think about it.” 

 

**-Present Day, 3:42 pm-**

Mello slammed a fist on his desk, “I know exactly who did this.”

Matt jumped slightly, “You do?”

“Yes,” Mello muttered, calling in his team through the intercom. “Yes I do, and the person responsible is going to _suffer._ ”

Matt felt a sudden lump in his throat. This was not the Mello that he had gotten used to over the last few weeks. The tone of his voice; the coldness of his eyes. It was frightening.

He moved to the corner of the room as Elli, Mike, Nick and a lingering-behind Lucy entered the office within five minutes of being called.

“What happened, boss?!” Mike was the first to run up to the desk in a panic. “Are we under attack?”

“I think we’d know if we were under attack, Mike,” Elli frowned, “…wait, are we?”

Mello took a deep breath. “Sort of,” he turned the computer screen to face his teammates.

Nick furrowed his brow, “Is this the storage warehouse? Why is it empty?”

“Because,” Mello voice seeped out like poison, “it was robbed.”

Elli gasped, “No! By who?”

“It was Ross, wasn’t it?” Nick’s hands curled into fists, “That bastard!”

 _‘Ross?’_ Matt scoured the archives of his memory – he’d certainly heard that name before. He remembered an article about the mafia activity in New York State; a man named Rod Ross used to control a large portion of the underworld. Was this the same one? Involved with the Manhattan Mafia?

Matt nearly jumped when Mello suddenly gripped his shoulder with a gloved hand. “Thanks to Matt,” the blond began, “He won’t know that _we_ know.”

Mike nodded at Matt, “Good work! So now what do we do?”

The grip on Matt’s shoulder tightened to the point that he had to wince.

Mello looked to each member of his team. “We plot revenge, of course.”

“Yes!” Nick pumped a fist in the air, “Finally! What’s the plan? Can I use that new ammo I brought in?”

From the back of the room, Lucy mumbled quietly, “I can just kill him.”

Mello shook his head, released Matt’s shoulder and went over to the table. He then looked to Elli, locking eyes with her for a second.

“……..” Elli crouched down in front of Matt, “Can you watch over the Parlor, hun? Just for a little while.”

“But—” He protested, but Elli’s finger blocked his lips.

“Now, Matt. Please.”

Defeated, Matt hung his head. “Okay… I’ll cover for you.” As he walked out of the office, Mike closed the door behind him but not before whispering;

“Don’t eavesdrop this time, kiddo.”

\---

Once more behind the pink and purple frosted countertops, Matt fumed. This would have been a perfect opportunity to see how they operate! Granted, this mission didn’t seem to have anything to do with the insider trading, but it was definitely _something._ A revenge killing! How often can you witness that?

Oh, no. Was he excited? About a crime?

Matt shook his head quickly, glancing at the employee door nervously. They were most certainly planning a murder. It would most certainly be all sort of illegal. And it would be so, _so_ cool—

_No! Stop thinking like that!_

He paced the floor of the empty Parlor, wondering what the Manhattan Mafia was secretly planning behind those closed doors.

The man in the white suit, Nick, mentioned something about new ammunition. The pink-haired girl from the alley, Lucy, flat-out said that she could kill their target!

A team of criminals, nothing less.

Matt mentally slapped himself for occasionally forgetting this fact. But how could he not? Between playing video games with Elli and Mike, and lunches all around town with Mello, it was easy to consider these people as his friends.

_Friends?_

This is why undercover work is so dangerous, Matt mused. You get attached to the targets. He had to get a grip! He was an agent and they were criminals.

Still, Matt was burdened with these lingering thoughts. They were people after all. It was obvious to Matt that there was genuine care among the group.

He had noticed the way that Mike looked lovingly at Lucy, the way that Elli and Mello shared their coffees, the way Nick and Mike went to the bar every Friday night, the way… Well, the way they all looked out for each other.

They were like a family, which was something Matt never had. And here he was, being accepted into theirs.

He sighed.

Why didn’t they decide to kill him when they discovered him outside the office all those weeks ago?

Why did Elli so enthusiastically give him a job – wasting her time training him about the ins and outs of the retail business and even making him a customized ice cream cake that read ‘Welcome Aboard, Mattie?’ Why did she keep taking away his cigarettes, chastising him about his health?

Why did Mike offer again and again to help Matt buy his groceries and drive him all over the place despite the awful traffic in the city?

Why did Nick take the time to play endless games of Crazy-8s with him?

Why did Mello continuously ask him how he was doing? Why did Mello offer him a place on his team? Why the expensive lunches?

Even Lucy, who appeared emotionless to Matt at first, gently patted him on the head one time upon entering the Parlor.

This isn’t how criminals are supposed to act, Matt thought. This isn’t how the Manhattan Mafia was supposed to act.

Within an hour, Matt was called back into Mello’s office.

 

**-The Next Day-**

“Alright, Matt. Do you understand the plan?”

“I think so.”

“Do you want me to go over it one more time?”

“…I think so.”

“No problem,” Mike chuckled, “Don’t be nervous; I know it’s your first mission but I’m sure you’ll do great!” He re-arranged some papers on the desk in front of Matt and pointed at a diagram of a room. “So, Ross and the boss – hehe that rhymes – they’re gonna be here.”

Matt followed along as Mike pointed to a yellow circle, representing Mello, and an orange square, representing the other person who would be sitting across from him in the indicated room.

“Who is this Ross guy?” Matt had been wondering this since first hearing the name. “Does he have a history with you guys?”

“Not with _us_ , no…” Mike scratched the back of his head, “I don’t know too much but from what the boss has told me, the two of them used to work together. Wait no, that’s not right… No, I think boss worked for the guy.”

“Really? Mello worked for him before? What happened?” Matt found it hard to believe that the blond would ever take orders from anyone. Then again, he must have started from the bottom of the ranks at some point.

“Well, I think the boss took over,” Mike whispered, despite there being no one else in the room but the two of them.

Matt thought back to the pictures of Ross he saw in his work database. “But isn’t he much older? How did their positions flip like that?”

Mike shrugged, “I dunno, but I assume it was legendary!”

“And he’s getting his revenge now by robbing that warehouse?” Matt scrunched up his nose, “That seems weird. Hasn’t Mello been in charge for years? Why is this guy just getting revenge now?”

“Look kiddo, I don’t know. All I know is that I have to make sure you know your job for this mission!” Mike pointed to the papers again, “Can I go on?”

Matt nodded.

“Okay, good. So your job is to get into the mainframe or whatchamacallit of the building and kill the lights in this room,” Mike pointed to two more circles on either side of the diagram, “When you do that, Nick and Lucy will take over. But the lights have to stay out, got it?”

“What if the guy brings his men with him?”

“Oh he definitely will. But that’s fine because they won’t know what him ‘em in the dark. Got it?”

Matt nodded again, “Got it.”

“Good,” Mike gave the diagram to Matt. “I’ll take you to the machine thingamabobs where you can work your magic, but I won’t be staying. I’ll be there with the boss, and Elli will stay here to monitor the situation and be with you.”

“Are we going right now?” Matt got up nervously, taking the paper. He wasn’t sure why they were including him in this mission.

“You got it!” Mike packed up the remaining papers and headed to the exit. “Let’s go meet Elli at the location.”

**\- - -**

An inconspicuous car was waiting outside the doors of the Polar Parlor. Lucy was sitting in the back seat. In the trunk, hidden under a false bottom, were two machine guns and plenty of ammunition.

The front door of the Parlor was obscured by a pink and white sign that said ‘I know it’s unBEARable, but we’re closed!’

As the final preparations were being made, Mello stood at his safe, looking at the Newspaper. He carefully read one section of the front page several times before putting it back in its place.

He locked the safe with a quiet sigh.

Nick knocked on the door, “Chief, we’re ready to go.”

“…Coming.”

**\- - -**

Matt hovered over the switchboard, carefully attaching cables to various parts of it. In less than fifteen minutes, Mello would be meeting Rod Ross in an abandoned building across the street from the one Matt was standing in.

Elli wore a headset and was checking its connection. She sat cross legged on the floor in front of the window. When something sounded back to her through the earpiece, she got up and went over to wall, replying; “ten-four.”

Matt clicked a final switch and wiped his forehead with the back of his sleeve. “Okay, I think I’m done.” He pulled up a laptop which displayed a video feed of the room in which Mello and Ross were to meet.

“Good job, Mattie!” Elli smiled, “Make sure you stay by that wall the whole time, okay? The lights have to go off or else baldy will get the upper hand.”

“Understood, ma’am!” Matt sat on his knees by the switchboard, watching the video display on the computer screen.

The entirety of his actions was his to determine. With Elli on the other side of the large room and no one else around, Matt could easily pretend to press the wrong button. He could easily ruin the whole mission.

But, when the footage showed Mello and a tall bald man entering the meeting room, Matt found himself nervously anticipating the moment that he would flick the switch. The _right_ switch.

It’s not that he cared about the approval or safety of his team though, right?

“Matt, when I give you the signal, kill the lights,” Elli said. “I’ll count you down.”

He nodded, watching the screen. There was no sound, but he could see that Mello and Ross were discussing something. As predicted, Ross had two men at his sides.

“Ready?” Elli inhaled a nervous breath. “Three… Two…”

 Matt readied his hand over the switch, biting his lip.

**“ONE!”**

He flipped the switch. The lights in the meeting room went out. Then, in a few seconds, the lights were back on.

“ _Shit_ ,” Matt gasped, “A back-up generat—“

The display on the computer screen immediately cut out and the huge windows in the room shattered with incredible force.

Both Matt and Elli were sent flying back by the blast. Matt’s back hit a column while Elli fell into a pile of boxes.

Regaining her balance, she got up quickly, “Matt! Are you alright?!” She ran over to him, crouching down.

He winced, opening his eyes. “I-I pressed the switch, Elli! There was a back-up generator, I didn’t know…! What happened?!”

Elli hugged Matt to her chest, rubbing his back, “Shh, it’s okay. I knew you would flip the switch. I just knew it.” He couldn’t see it, but Elli was smiling. She had tears in her eyes.

Matt pulled away, getting up unsteadily, “What happened, Elli?! What was that explosion?” He turned to face the window and collapsed to the ground. “Oh no…”

The building across from them, the one in which Mello and Ross and Nick and Mike and Lucy were, had a hole in its side the size of a wrecking ball.

Flames engulfed the walls and nothing could be seen moving inside.

“Oh god, no,” Matt felt his cheeks burning from tears that were now flowing down his face, “This is all my fault!” His heart felt as if it would explode from his chest. “Elli! Are they dead?!”

He was once again embraced; Elli’s hand was shielding his eyes. “It’s okay, Matt. It’s okay. You did good.”

 

_To be continued..._


	5. Initiation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The behind-the-scenes of the initiation mission and the aftermath.

**-The Day Before-**

A few moments of complete silence passed after Matt reluctantly left the office.

Finally, Mike opened the door again, just a crack, to check the hallway.

“All clear, boss,” he said, giving a thumbs-up gesture to the team.

“Good,” Mello went behind his desk, sitting down. “So, as you can plainly see, Ross has decided to rob me. I mean us. Mostly me.”

“Why now, all of a sudden?” Elli sat on the edge of the sofa by Lucy. “And why that place? I don’t remember anything too important being stored there.”

Mello leaned forward on the desk, propping up on his elbows. “…It’s symbolic.”

“Symbolic?” Elli tilted her head to side slightly, “How so?”

“If I’m not mistaken, today is day that I took over, eight years ago,” Mello replied, glancing at a calendar. “That warehouse was also where it happened. Back then, it used to be an important building, but now it’s pretty much useless.”

“Is it really because of somethin’ so abstract, boss?” Mike asked, plopping down on the couch beside Lucy.

“No, I get it,” Nick said, “That’s a big thing for those traditional-type mobsters. Symbolism and shit. Ross probably thinks it’s some grand gesture.”

“Then can’t we just ignore it?” Mike asked hopefully. “I mean, nothing important was stolen, right?” An awkward silence hung in the room, “…No? Anyone?”

“It’s a matter of principle, Mike,” Mello sighed, “I can’t just let it slide.”

“Well, you _can_ ,” Elli twirled her hair. “But you _won’t._ ”

“Regardless of how you want to phrase it, I have a plan.” He closed the laptop, pushing it aside. “It’ll kill two birds with one stone: a way to get rid of Ross and a way to initiate our newest recruit.”

Mike, Elli and Nick simultaneously shuddered, thinking back to their own ‘initiations.’ Lucy stared absentmindedly at the wall, having not undergone any recruitment process considering her background.

“Don’t make him do anything diabolical,” Elli said nervously, “don’t make that poor boy into a murderer.”

“Or a thief!” Mike added, “He’s just a kid.”

“Don’t worry. It’ll be as simple as flipping a switch,” Mello smiled. “Here’s what we’re going to do:”

The plan was relatively simple. Mello was to call Rod Ross and arrange a meeting. It would be set under no pretenses, although both of them clearly knew the reason. They were to agree on a time and place the following day, after nightfall.

Ross would likely bring backup. Mello would have backup as well. From another location, Matt would be instructed to remotely turn off the lights in the room when given the signal. Once the room is dark, Nick and Lucy, who were to hide in the hallway, would quickly dispose of Ross and his men.

The test, to determine if Matt is truly loyal to the group, lay in his decision to flip the switch or not. If the lights stay on after Mello’s signal, then he would have his answer. If the lights go out, then Matt passes the test.

The course of action was fairly straight forward. However, the following morning, there would have to be some small changes made to the plan...

 

**-Present Day, 11:45 pm-**

Matt was still shaking as he and Elli made their way through shattered glass and debris. It had been at least twenty minutes since the explosion, but they had just now collected their wits enough to stand properly. She held an arm protectively around him, using her other hand to press the earpiece on her headset closer, hoping to hear something on the other end.

“I don’t understand,” Matt kept repeating quietly, “what happened?”

Elli navigated them out of the neighboring building, and they now stood in front of the exploded remains of the foundation that was just standing minutes ago. The entrance doors had collapsed, leaving no way to get inside other than climbing over unstable brick.

“It’s OK, Mattie. I’m sure they’re fine,” Elli peered into the building, coughing from the smoke.

“How do you know?!” Matt’s voice trembled, “What if they’re dead?!”

Elli crouched down, smiling gently. “Matt… Do you think we’re idiots?”

“Huh?”

“I asked you a question. Do you?”

Matt blinked, “I… No, I don’t…”

“Then how can you think that something like this will kill us off?” She wiped some tears from his cheek, having long since dried her own. “I bet you a million dollars that Nick will come running out right now, yelling profanities.”

As if by script, Matt heard someone shouting from the side of the building. His head whipped around to see Nick and Lucy, running towards them.

“God fucking damn it!” Nick threw down his gun in front of him, “I was _one_ burrito away from ruining these pants. I hate explosions.”

“See?” Elli stood, crossing her arms. “What did I tell you?”

Nick and Lucy’s clothes were completely undamaged. There was no evidence that they had been in a fire of any kind.

“I don’t understand,” Matt finally managed to say, “I thought you two were supposed to be outside of the meeting room…”

“Oh that,” Nick shrugged, “At the last minute, we were told to leave the building. We went to the adjacent ones, sniping through the windows.”

“I got a last minute change too,” Elli said. “Mel told me to move away from the windows.”

Nick furrowed his brows, “Wait… So he knew Ross was bringin’ TNT?”

Matt was completely distraught, “If he told you all to get out, that means he stayed _in the room_ when it exploded?!”

Lucy stiffened, remembering that Mike was supposed to be at Mello’s side for the duration of the meeting. She breathed a sigh of relief, however, when Mike came stumbling out of the alley.

“You guys are here too!” He exclaimed, going over to them. “What the hell happened? The boss told me to go get him a briefcase from the car and as soon as I was outside, BOOM goes the dynamite! Literally!”

“He told you too leave, too…?” Elli’s voice trailed off.

The five of them exchanged worried glances.

“He knew it would explode…” Matt took a step towards the burning building, then another. “Mello is still in there!”

“Chill kid, you can relax now,” Nick smiled, “You got the lights, I saw ‘em go off for a sec. You passed.”

“Passed?!” Matt shook his head, “What are you all talking about with the lights? We have to go look for him!” He made an effort to climb the broken brick, but was picked up swiftly by the back of his shirt.

Lucy held him a couple feet above the ground, moving him away from the blaze.

Matt flailed, “Put me down!”

“Hey, shh!” Elli grasped her headset, listening intently. After some time, a look of relief washed over her face. “We have to get back to base, guys. The firemen and cops will be here soon.”

 

**-Earlier that Day-**

The location for the meeting with Ross was finalized, as was the setup for Matt’s initiation test.

Mello sat at his desk, going through every single possible scenario of the night to come. He knew that Ross was mostly definitely not coming alone or empty handed, but he was planning on getting rid of him regardless. He had let Ross do as he pleases over the years, sort of as an act of pity for taking over his role almost a decade ago. But betrayal such as this? Unforgivable.

Mello positioned his team on a mental chess board. Nick and Lucy would be hidden from sight in the hall, guns ready to go, and Mike would be at his side, in case of confrontation. Elli would be in direct communication, ready for the signal in the building across the street. Matt would be with her, manning the switchboard.

Ross wouldn’t have time to pull a gun, and it was unlikely that he would have snipers. A bomb did cross Mello’s mind, although he had, mistakenly, assumed that Ross was not the suicidal type.

As for Matt, the light switch idea was elegantly simple. Either he does it, or not. If he decides not to, he could say it malfunctioned, or he pressed the wrong switch, or he missed. The reason Mello placed Elli in the room with him is so that Matt doesn’t feel threatened by the situation. He could run off if he wants to.

Mello estimated that the mission to kill Ross had a 96% chance of a success. He estimated that the probability of Matt passing his test was 78%.

An hour prior to the meeting, Mello decided to put aside a call queue to his clients for the following day in case something did happen to go wrong. He opened the safe and got the Newspaper, placing it on his desk.

He was about to flip to the business news column when he caught a glimpse of the front page headline.

Mello read the article over three times. There was no mistaking it – that was the building where the meeting was taking place in less than hour.

What was he to do?

The article mentioned that five suspicious people fled the scene, one of whom looked like a kid. Mello at least had the relief of knowing that his team would be safe, as the five people could only be Nick, Mike, Elli, Lucy and Matt.

But what did this mean of the mission?

Mello paced the room. If Ross is bringing explosives, when will he set them off? Does this mean that he will get the upper hand? Does it mean that the lights stay on, giving Lucy and Nick no chance to shoot?

With this news, the probability of Matt passing the test decreased to 34%. Although incredibly disappointed, and a bit sad, Mello had to focus on ensuring the safety of his team first.

Luckily, the Newspaper was proof that whatever he implements will be successful.

Matt and Elli would already be safe, as they were in a different building. He would have to tell Elli to move away from the windows, as the explosion would reach across the street, according to the paper. He would place Lucy and Nick in a different location entirely, as being in the hall was now much too dangerous. As for Mike, he would need to predict the right moment to send him outside.

When he was alone with Ross, he would give the signal to Elli, who would then give it Matt. Assuming Ross catches onto this, and assuming that Matt betrays the team, that would be the moment of the explosion.

Mello couldn’t help but frown. He truly hoped that Matt would pull through, but now the odds were against him.

There was only one variable remaining: Mello himself. He would be in the room with Ross, who may or may not set off a suicidal blast. Mello couldn’t think of a way that an explosion that big could happen without the perpetrator being killed in the process.

Unfortunately, this also meant that anyone in close vicinity would likely be killed as well. And Mello would be in the same room.

Well, that just wouldn’t do. Dying means losing to Ross – and Mello doesn’t lose.

 

**-Present Day, 12:15 am-**

“He contacted you?!” Matt gasped, “He’s alive?”

Elli smiled, “Yes, and he said he wants to see you. So let’s get back to the base.”

As the five of them piled into Nick’s car, faint fire truck sirens could be heard in the distance. Upon pulling up to the Polar Parlor, Matt was the first to jump out of the still-moving vehicle and run inside.

Pushing his way past the employee door to the back, and effortlessly finding and pressing the lever, he was in the elevator in less than a minute.

“Come on, come on, come on…” He poked at the -14 button a dozen times until the doors finally closed.

His heart was racing. At this moment, Matt’s thoughts were devoid completely of the investigation, of finding evidence, and of the fact that he had scheduled a communication with his boss early the next morning.

He sprinted to the office at the end of the hallway and banged on the door. The sudden burst of activity sent pangs of pain through his body, aching from the blast, but it was far at the back of his mind. When the door clicked open, he nearly kicked it down, running inside.

Mello was standing at his desk, with his back to the door; “Now Matt, before you say anything, I—”

He was almost immediately interrupted by a flying hug that nearly sent him over the table.

“You’re alive!” Matt cried, burying his face into the back of Mello’s shirt. “I thought you exploded and died!”

Mello chuckled, “It takes a lot more than that to kill me.”

Matt sniffed and loosened his grip, allowing the other to turn around and face him. The blond was not in his usual attire – instead he wore jeans and a plain black sweater. Matt looked up at his face and instinctively put his hand over his mouth.

“Your face…” was all he managed to make out before tightly hugging Mello again. “This is all my fault!”

Indeed, half of Mello’s face was obscured by a large reddish burn, which traveled down along the left side of his neck.

“Yeah, I know it’s not very pretty,” he put a hand on the younger boy’s head, trying to awkwardly comfort him. “But it’s not your fault. In fact, you did everything right.”

“But the lights…”

“Went off.” Mello smiled, “That was all you had to do, and I’m very proud that you did. I can now officially welcome you to the team.”

Matt felt his cheeks get warm from the praise, although he was still confused about the whole situation. “I don’t get it… Was this a test of some kind?”

Mello nodded, “That’s exactly what it was. You see, I initiate every person who joins me. The ones that fail get discarded; the ones that pass can enter the organization; and the ones that pass with flying colours become a part of my personal team.”

Matt’s mind swirled with this new information. Were they expecting him to fail? Did this mean that they would no longer doubt his loyalty?

“More importantly,” Mello continued, “are you okay? I didn’t think the blast would reach your floor as strongly as it did.” He had taken a step back and put one hand under Matt’s chin, lifting it up to inspect his face.

“I think you got the worst of it!” Matt huffed, “I don’t suppose you’re gonna see a doctor.”

“Too many questions would be raised,” Mello said, shaking his head. “It’s not so bad. Just a flesh wound.”

“Just a flesh wound! I don’t think so,” Matt went around to the back of the desk, “I know you have a first-aid kit here someone.”

Mello watched dumbfoundedly as Matt searched the whole room. The burn _was_ painful but he just came back to the base less than ten minutes ago and hadn’t yet given any thought to its treatment.

There were some doctors at the disposal of the Manhattan Mafia, but it was late and they were all quite a ride away. Mello had just wanted to get back to his team.

Finally he said, “Bottom drawer on the right.”

Matt pulled the kit out of the drawer, flipping it open. “It’s half empty! Don’t you ever restock it?”

Mello shrugged, “Mike gets into a lot of accidents.”

Sighing somewhat angrily, Matt rummaged through the little white box, finally taking out a tube of antibiotic ointment, a few pieces of gauze and bandages. He then sat on the desk and motioned for Mello to sit in the chair in front of him.

“Matt, you don’t have to do this,” Mello protested but sat down anyway.

“Move your hair from your face,” came the surprisingly stern reply.

Mello studied the boy’s face with amusement, “Oh? Are you giving me orders now?”

Matt didn’t waver, “If you don’t do it then I will, and it’ll probably hurt more that way.”

“Alright, fair enough,” Mello lifted his hair with his hand, and Matt noticed that back of it was burned as well.

He shook his head disapprovingly, starting to carefully apply the gel, focusing intently on the task at hand.

Mello winced but tried not to show it. “I don’t suppose you taught this to yourself too, did you?”

“…I did,” Matt hesitated, knowing he couldn’t say that every intelligence agent was trained in first aid. He quickly changed that subject, “How did you get out of there alive, anyway?”

“How do _you_ think I did it?”

“Well,” Matt furrowed his brows, “I know you knew the building would explode. ‘Cause you told Elli to move away from the windows and you repositioned Nick and Lucy, and you sent Mike away to the car.”

“Very perceptive of you,” Mello said. “What else?”

Matt found it hard to stay calm knowing that Mello was watching him so closely. “I… I’m guessing you didn’t know about the backup generator. If your whole plan depended on the lights going off at the right time,” he said a little nervously.

“No, actually the lights _staying_ off was never part of the plan, so I didn't care too much about the backup generator. That split second was all that we needed.” Mello couldn’t help but smile at the baffled expression that took over Matt’s face.

“You mean… The lights coming back on wasn’t a problem?! So Mike and Elli lied to me?”

“No, no, we really didn’t know that there was a backup. But it was irrelevant at that point since Ross was already dead,” Mello said nonchalantly. “Why, were you worried?”

Matt was ready to slap him, “I thought I screwed something up!”

Their eyes met. “You did everything right,” Mello said calmly, “just as I hoped you would.”

Matt stammered, “I still… don’t understand how you got out of there! How did you know there would be an explosion?” It took a conscious effort to keep his hands steady as he applied the bandages.

“That’s a story for another time.”

 

**-A few hours earlier-**

In the short amount of time between reading the Newspaper and Nick knocking at the door, Mello had to prepare himself for the explosion. He knew much of his actions would need to be determined upon actually seeing Ross, since he didn’t yet know the medium of the explosives.

He put flame-resistant clothes on under his regular ones, something that came in handy ever since the group acquired incendiary ammunition. He also prepared a gallon of water, for immediate relief should he get burned.

Arriving at the meeting location earlier than Ross, Mello examined the room for anything that could have been placed there prior to his arrival. Upon finding nothing, he decided that Ross would be bringing the explosive himself.

Mello repositioned Nick and Lucy, telling them that being so close to the room might give them away. He then put the water beside the desk at which he would sit and inspected the furniture.

Luckily, the desk was not boarded to the floor. To Mike’s utter confusion, Mello flipped the desk over on its side a couple of times, measuring its weight and the speed of the flip. When he got the signal from Elli that Ross had arrived at the building, he quickly put the desk back and sat down.

Mike stood loyally at Mello’s side – his usually goofy attitude was replaced by one of seriousness and authority. 

Mello listened as three pairs of footsteps approached the room. He had a limited amount of time to figure out where the explosives were and how they were going to be activated. Luckily, deduction was a skill that he knew well.

Ross entered the room, followed by two men who Mello recognized vaguely from his old team. At first glance, no explosive devices were visible. The two men wore black suits and had their hands at their sides. They probably had gun holsters, although any sudden move would alert Nick and Lucy to shoot them first.

Ross himself wore a button-down shirt and grey pants. His left hand was in his pocket. His appearance hadn’t changed much in nearly ten years, expect for the few wrinkles that now patterned his forehead. He sat down in on the other side of the table, across from Mello.

“So,” he began, “long time no see.”

“Indeed, how long has it been?” Mello asked, knowing that the question would strike a nerve.

“Exactly eight years, actually,” Ross pulled out a cigar and the man on his right lit it immediately. “To what do I owe the pleasure of this meeting?”

“I think you know the answer. I never thought you’d stoop as low as robbery,” Mello said casually, “I guess I was mistaken.”

Ross laughed nastily, throwing his head back. “You’re one to talk about stooping low, eh? Or have you forgotten where you come from?”

“I prefer to live in the present,” Mello quipped, “and, the way I see it, in the present I am the boss and you are a sad, bald man nearing middle age, resorting to robbing storage warehouses of Swiss army-knives and old bicycle parts.”

The other man snarled, “I wouldn’t talk that way to me if I were you. You’ll regret it.”

Mello caught the slightest twitch of Ross’ hand in his left pocket. That’s where the detonator is, Mello thought, and he’s getting ready to press it.

He needed to distract Ross for a few minutes while he assessed the situation. He took on an almost apologetic tone and asked, “How _would_ you want me to talk to you, good sir?”

His plan worked and Ross took a deep breath, “First of all, this tone that you’ve taken on is atrociously disrespectful. In spite of your position, I am still your elder, and the least possible courtesy you can do for me is to mind your manners. I am also appalled at the fact that you’d call me ‘middle-aged’ because I’m barely over forty, and I don’t think that really counts as middle age. And another thing………”

As he prattled on, Mello thought through all the possible scenarios of this explosion going off. He already determined that some kind of device was in Ross’ left pocket. Considering the room was clean and Ross himself was not wearing concealing clothes, it was likely that his men had the bombs hidden on themselves. He was amused by their kamikaze-like loyalty to Ross.

Moreover, Mello deducted that if the Ross’ hand was in his pocket, consciously holding on to the detonator, it would only need the click of a button to go off.

If that were the case though, why was Ross keeping his hand in his pocket the whole time? He could reach in there whenever he wanted; why give himself the discomfort of holding onto it throughout the meeting?

Mello went over what Ross had said; that he would _regret talking to him that way_. That was a threat – likely warning of the explosion. Perhaps then, the act was already, secretly, underway. Perhaps…

“…and who even is this buffoon you’ve got with you? He looks like he doesn’t even know how to handle a gun. And I noticed you have some girlies on your team as well. Bet they don’t do you any good. Ha! Women. What do you use them for; mopping up blood and preparing dinners? Back when _I_ was in charge, I had some really good men on my team – strong and courageous fellas. You wouldn’t know what it’s like to have a real army. Let me tell you what those guys could do……”

As Ross continued, Mello reached his conclusion. The detonator was in fact in his pocket and it was already pressed. Mello had noticed the slight difference in tension between Ross’ right and left arm. He was holding down the button this very moment. 

This means that Ross entered this room fully prepared to die. _Releasing_ the button would activate an explosion. This created even more problems, as Mello realized the flaw in his plan. As soon as Nick and Lucy fired, killing Ross, his finger would leave the button and detonate the explosives.

There was no way around it. The Newspaper was never wrong anyway, so all Mello could really do was try to mitigate the damage. He had to admit, he was surprised and a bit impressed by Ross’ determination to get rid of him.

At last, he raised a hand, and Ross stopped talking. “Mike,” Mello said under his breath, “go to the car and get the briefcase that’s in the trunk. Now, if you would.”

“Sure, boss!” Mike nodded, and nervously left the room. This wasn’t part of the plan, but he went straight to the car anyway, obedient as ever.

Mello knew full well that there was no briefcase anywhere in the car. But he also knew that Mike would spend at least fifteen minutes desperately searching for one, rather than coming back empty-handed.

Ross scoffed. “What are you possibly hoping to bring up here?”

Mello needed to confirm the intentions of the man before him one last time. “A contract. Sort of like a peace treaty, between the two of us. How about we start all over?”

At the laugh that was offered in return, Mello had his answer.

“Treaty?!” Ross’ eyes shone with belligerent amusement, “No, no, we’re far beyond that point, sunshine.” He stood up, likely for dramatic effect, “I’ve given you eight years to realize the mistake you made by making a fool out of me. Little by little, I’ve been draining your money and supplies. But that wasn’t enough for me, so I’ve finally made up my mind.”

Mello knew what was coming. When he was confident that Mike had left the building, he inhaled a deep breath…

“…Ah…ah-cHOO!”

Instantly, the lights went off. For a split second, Mello was overwhelmed with joy that Matt had done his job.

Then, half a heartbeat before those three clockwork gun shots, he dropped off the chair onto the floor and flipped the desk ninety degrees, using it to shield himself from the impending—

Although he covered his ears, the blast was deafening. The light enveloped the room for a flash and then disappeared, replaced by crackling flames. The bodies of Ross and the two men at his side were engulfed immediately.

The powerful explosion cracked the old walls and sent the lights from the ceiling crashing to the floor. The desk, which was Mello’s shield, was forcefully pushed back against the wall, pinning him against the crumbling brick. The water was just out of reach.

Unfortunately, the desk was made of wood. The flames quickly reached it, feeding hungrily on the old oak, surrounding Mello in the process. The legs of the desk broke in the impact, but left some squeeze space between it and the wall, allowing Mello to crawl out after a few moments of struggle.

The flame resistant clothes spared most of his body from the flames, but being trapped behind the fiery desk gave the blaze a chance to attack his face and one of his hands. It ate into his flesh, marking him with first-degree burns.

But it there was no time to think about the pain. He stood slowly and could already hear the creaking of the building’s foundation. It would not last long.

He leapt over the blazing corpses on the floor and into the hallway, covering his mouth and nose from the smoke. He ran to the window, shattering it with his elbow, and looked down. He was on the fourth floor, which wasn’t that high but it wasn’t a small jump either.

There wasn’t really much of a choice. He climbed over the side, holding onto the pane tightly, and began his descent. In the back of his mind, Mello noted that the article in the Newspaper mentioned nothing of more survivors. Only the five odd people on the sidewalk, which were undoubtedly his teammates. There was a chance, he pondered, that he wouldn’t survive.

Such thoughts, of course, would be wrong. Soon, he made it down to the pavement, on the opposite side of the building, and made his way back to base to wait for his team.

 

**-Present Day, 7:23 am-**

Matt had spent a good portion of the night in Mello’s office, treating his burns. Although told many times otherwise, he still believed that the explosion was his fault.

When dawn broke, Matt realized that he had fallen asleep on the couch. He also realized that Mello was asleep as well, on the same couch, in a sitting position. Quietly and carefully, Matt got off the couch and stretched.

He took one of Mello’s jackets from the coat hanger and covered him with it. He then went to the door and was about to leave, when he suddenly remembered his job. His breath halted in his throat as he turned back to look around the room.

This was a perfect chance to investigate the office.

Wait, investigate?

Matt turned to look at the slumbering blond on the couch. His face was partially concealed by bandages, and Matt was quite proud of his handiwork.

Wait, what?

Matt had to take a step back. He had just experienced one of the most stressful events in his life. He had just spent hours tending to the wounds of… a criminal?

Cognitive dissonance was a powerful destabilizer. If he was an agent, working to stop these criminals, how could he care so deeply? Certainly, he had to have agreed to the mission to keep himself undercover, but the fear he felt was real.

He dreaded the prospect of Mello dying in that explosion.

Why? Wasn’t he just… a criminal?

Matt shook his head, as if trying to forcefully push the thoughts out of his brain. He decided against investigating the office, considering his own physical state and the fact that Mello might wake up at any moment. Instead, he silently left the room, rode the elevator back up to the ground level and went to his apartment.

Although he was tired and his body ached for rest, he knew he had to contact his boss. He was supposed to be on earlier, but wasn’t anticipating the results of the mission. If only Mello had told them all that an explosion would happen. How did he know it would happen in the first place?

Matt shrugged and opened up his laptop, tuning the radio frequency accordingly.

Matt watched the screen in confusion. His boss ended the conversation so abruptly; was there a communication error?

As he tried to toggle the frequency, his cell phone rang in his pocket.

Matt took it out, and answered it right away upon seeing that the caller ID was withheld. “Hello? This is Matt.”

A man’s voice sounded on the other end, “Special agent Matt, this is your superior calling. Are you alone and in a secure location?”

Matt took this chance to push the computer to the side and lay back on this bed, lazily holding the phone to his ear. “Yeah, I’m in my room. Isn’t it dangerous to use the cellular network?”

“Yes, which is why I’d like to keep this short. But I felt that the radio typing method was not efficient enough for these purposes.” His voice was stern, carrying an authoritative tone even through the phone.

“Okay…?” Matt was confused by this whole ordeal, and even more so by this sudden call.

“You sent me the news article about the explosion of the building in NYC. You were involved in this? Are you hurt? Tell me what happened.”

“I was sort of involved,” Matt worked through the events of last night in his head, “They had a meeting with some guy, and I was in a building across the street. I had to turn off the lights at a precise moment, but then there was an explosion. Apparently the guy was packing bombs.” He kept the important details to himself, although he wasn’t sure why. “I wasn’t really injured. I’m just a little sore.”

There was a pause on the other end. “…You placed yourself in a dangerous situation, agent. You could have been hurt or killed.” There was another short pause. “I will put in a request immediately to have you pulled from the case.”

“What?!” Matt jolted up into a sitting position, nearly dropping the cell phone. “No! Sir, with all due respect, you can’t do that! I worked so hard to get this far and now they trust me! I’m undercover!”

“This mission is not more important than your life.”

Matt’s heart sank. He hadn’t considered that he may be taken off the case.

“Please,” he pleaded, “you have to let me stay on this case. I don’t think they’ll need to me to participate in any more missions, but now they truly think I’m one of them! The investigation will progress a lot smoother now.”

Matt heard a sigh. “Are you any closer to determining how they get the insider information on the stock market?”

“Yes, I am,” he lied, “I think I’m starting to piece some things together!”

“Like what?”

“…well,” Matt bit his lip, “like the fact that…” All of a sudden, a light bulb went off in his mind. “I think they may be getting more information than just stocks. They knew the explosion would happen before it did! As if they have some fortune teller or something.”

“A fortune teller?” His boss didn’t sound convinced, “Anything else?”

Matt glanced at the small pile of evidence that he collected up to this point. “I also learned some stuff about the members of the team, sir. For example, at this location, there are five of us— I mean, five of _them,_ sir.”

“Tell me about them.”

An overwhelming feeling of guilt hung over him, but Matt knew he had to speak. “There are two men, two women, and the boss altogether. I have suspicions that the others may be on existing criminal databases. One of them, a woman with pink hair, seems to have some kind of military background.”

“You don’t say?” There was the sound of clicking computer keys over the phone. “Is there anything particular about her? Specifically about her head?”

“Her head…?” Puzzled, Matt looked at the photo he had snapped of Lucy in the alley weeks ago. “I don’t think so. She always wears hats though. Or ribbons.”

“Incredible,” came the reply on the other end, “Yes, she is a known fugitive. Be wary of her, agent. She is ruthless and extremely dangerous; try not to go near her if you can. Who else is on the team?”

Matt felt a chill, feeling like a traitor. He swallowed hard, “There’s… nothing really remarkable about the rest of them.” He wondered nervously what Lucy must have done in her past to warrant such a caution from his boss, and how could've known who she was just by the fast that she wore hats. “But now that I’m officially part of the team, I can find out much more.”

His boss made a slight noise of approval, “You think you can speed matters up from this point?”

“Yes, yes I can!” Matt was trying his hardest to contain the nerves in his voice. “Leave it to me sir, I won’t let you down. Please don’t take me off the case.”

“Just know that you’re walking on eggshells now, agent. I’ll be keeping a close eye on you. You’re my responsibility.”

“Yes, of course sir. Will that be all?”

The voice on the other end sighed again, “Yes. Keep up the good work. And for god's sake, stay safe.”

With a click, the line went dead. Matt unclenched the hand that was holding his cell phone and fell back down onto the pillow.

 

**\- - -**

Elli walked into the Parlor’s staff break room, holding a tray of coffees and teas. “Boy, what a night, huh?” She placed the tray on a circular table in the middle of the room, taking a cup of tea for herself.

“You can say that again!” Mike took a coffee and sat down on the couch. “I can’t remember the last time I was so worried!”

Nick took a coffee too, “We’ve had worse missions, I think. But yeah, this one was pretty intense.”

Lucy took the plastic cup of tea wordlessly, nodding a ‘thank you’ towards Elli.

“I can’t believe the boss tricked me into looking for an imaginary briefcase,” Mike muttered into his coffee. “I coulda helped him get out of the fire!”

Elli giggled, “I think he sent you outside because you’d get in his way.”

“Hey!” Mike started, but then sighed. “Yeah, you’re probably right.”

“I still wonder how he knew that Ross was gonna bring explosives,” Nick said. “You don’t suppose he had some inside scoop?”

“He probably figured it out somehow,” Elli shrugged. “Melly’s surprisingly smart sometimes. Maybe he saw like the slightest clue of a bomb.”

Mike nodded, “And good thing too! If he hadn’t gotten us out of there, and you away from the window, we’d be toast.”

“I wonder how he did it,” Nick said. “And what he and Ross talked about.”

“He’ll probably brag about it at our next meeting,” Elli said, “but I’m curious too.”

The four of them sat around the table in a comfortable and familiar silence.

Elli decided that she would keep the Parlor closed today and take a day off. She and Mike would spend the morning planning a surprise party for Matt, officially welcoming him to the team. And welcoming him to their family.

 

**\- - -**

Matt was unbearably tired, but now he couldn’t get to sleep.

Why was he so upset about being potentially pulled from the case? Why was he so reluctant to continue investigating? And why did he have the feeling that he just stabbed his team in the back?

Matt’s chest ached. It wasn’t entirely from the pain that the blast caused. It hurt at the prospect of working towards putting these people in jail. It was just a job, sure, but what he felt when those bombs went off was real. The fear of losing the others; the fear of failing the mission.

He covered his face with the pillow and shouted into it.

He had to remind himself why he was here. These people were evil! Matt thought back to the news broadcast of Warren Buffet’s interview.

Because of the Manhattan Mafia, the upper class made incredible profits by exploiting stocks. The very fabric of the free market was being manipulated!

On top of that, Matt knew that all of them had shady pasts. Lucy, it would seem, was on the top of some very clandestine lists. Nick kept bringing in weapons and ammunition, and seemed apt at using them.

As for Elli and Mike… well, they must have done _something_ bad to find themselves on this team, right?

Matt made up his mind.

Tomorrow, he _must_ resume his investigation.


	6. Interrogatorio

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Someone from Nick's past enters the scene and Matt is thrown into an entirely unprecedented situation.

**-Present Day, 10:02am-**

After a restless few hours, Matt decided that he was not getting any more sleep for the time being. He grudgingly got out of bed and, having lost all appetite, decided to just go back to work at the Parlor. He figured it would get his mind off the conflicting emotions clouding his judgment and get him back on track with the investigation.

He tossed his dirt and ash-covered clothes to the floor and changed into fresh ones. Another striped shirt with a jeans – he wasn’t sure why he liked stripes so much. He then tucked away his laptop under the mattress as usual and set out.

As he wandered across the street to the ice cream shop, he didn’t notice a text from Elli which read; “DO NOT COME TO THE PARLOR TILL 3PM!!!!!!” His phone was tucked away deep in his pocket.

The bells on the doors jingled as Matt walked inside, and Elli froze behind the counter.

“…Mattie? What are you doing here?” She hastily shoved a half-blown up balloon under the counter and hid a bag of confetti in her apron.

He looked at her in confusion, “I’m not working today?”

“No, no!” She said in a hushed voice, “Didn’t you get my text?”

“Oh,” Matt fished out his phone, checking the messages, “sorry, I didn’t see that.”

“Well go on, shoo!” Elli tried to push him back out the door as a few customers walked inside. “Damn it Mike,” she muttered under her breath, “I ask you to do _one_ thing! Put the closed sign out front! _One job!_ ”

The customers who entered the shop, a family consisting of a mother and her two sons, went over to the ice cream counter eagerly, looking at flavors.

Elli put on her sweetest smile and went over to them. “What can I get you guys?”

Matt loitered awkwardly by the door, unsure of what to do.

The younger son shouted, “Chilly chocolate for me please!”

The older one pointed to the Mountain Mint and said, “That one, please.”

“Right away!” Elli pressed a couple buttons and the automated conveyer machine sprang to life with a hum. Matt had decreased its volume significantly since its first installation.

The two boys exclaimed in unison, “Cool!”

“Pretty sweet, ain’t it?” Elli smiled as the machine pumped two scoops of ice cream into two cones and the belt carried them to the awaiting customers.

The mother was about to say something when the staff door swung open with a loud bang, as if it had been kicked in with a mighty force.

In stomped Mello, fuming with anger. “Where. Is. **Matt.** ”

Matt’s voice caught in his throat as he took a step back towards the wall.

“Melly, what the hell?!” Elli crossed her arms, “You’re scaring the customers!”

“I don’t care. Tell them to get the fuck out.” He turned to stare at the two boys, “What are _you_ looking at, brats?”

The boys ran to their mother, clutching their ice cream cones and hiding behind her. “Why, I never!” She exclaimed, slamming down a ten dollar bill and marching out of the shop, holding her sons by the hand.

Elli face-palmed, “Now look what you’ve done—whoa, dude…” She finally caught a glimpse of Mello’s face since last seeing him before the mission. “Ouch, what’s up with your face?”

He ignored her, looking around the parlor until his eyes met Matt’s.

Matt had his back against the wall and wasn’t sure why he was so scared. He hadn’t done anything wrong, right?

“ _You,_ ” Mello spoke, “why did you leave?!”

Matt scrambled for words, “I… what?”

“Melly, what is going on?” Elli looked genuinely worried, “What happened?”

“…..” Mello sighed, “Nothing. Sorry about your customers.” With that, he left as suddenly as he came, slamming the staff door behind him.

Elli turned to look at Matt, who was pale as a sheet. “Mattie, did you do something?”

“I…” He wracked his brain for evidence of any wrong-doing. “I don’t think so?”

Elli looked at the door, putting her hands on her hips. “I’ve never seen him lose his cool like that. Something must’ve happened.”

“Do you think it’s… my fault?” Matt asked nervously.

Elli shrugged, “I dunno, but I suggest you go find out. I don’t want him storming in here and scaring away any more Polar Patrons, y’know?” She gasped, “Oh and one more thing! Don’t come back here till three o’clock, ok?”

Matt nodded and went to the back, calling up the elevator.

He didn’t know what to expect when he reached the office, but he was certain he hadn’t done anything to warrant suspicion from Mello. At least, that’s what he hoped. He knocked at the door.

When there was no response for a few moments, Matt pressed his ear to the metal. “Hello? It’s me. Can I come in?”

Finally, the door unhinged and opened slowly. Matt peered inside cautiously before stepping in.

Mello sat in the chair at his desk, facing the wall.

Matt fidgeted with the hem of his shirt, keeping his head down. “You know, I think this office would be much nicer above ground, with some windows… Then you wouldn’t have to keep staring at walls and stuff.”

He slapped himself mentally for saying something so stupid.

Though he was fixated on the floor, Matt could now feel Mello’s hard gaze on him.

An eternity passed before Mello got up. “Why did you leave this morning?”

Matt blinked, looking up. “Pardon?”

Mello gestured to the couch angrily, “You left while I was asleep! Why would you do that?”

 _‘Oh no,’_ Matt thought, _‘he’s suspicious of me.’_ He couldn’t say that he left in a hurry to contact his boss about the mission.

“Well?” Mello crossed his arms, waiting for a response. “What was so important to attend to that you had to leave me knocked out on the couch in my condition?”

“I…” Matt was at a loss, “I had to get back home to… feed my…” he looked down, “fish?”

 _‘What the fuck am I saying?’_ Matt shut his eyes, cursing himself for thinking of such a dumb excuse. He couldn’t think clearly enough in Mello’s presence to muster up a believable reason, it seemed.

Mello stared at him. “To feed your _fish?_ You had to leave at the crack of dawn for that?”

It was too late to get out of the sinkhole Matt had opened beneath his feet. “Yeah… ‘cause I couldn’t feed them since we left on the mission. And they had been sick lately, so I had to hurry…”

“You have _fish_ ,” Mello repeated. “What kind of fish are they? Goldfish?”

It occurred to Matt then that if he kept up this lie, Mello would want to go and see the non-existent fish in Matt’s apartment. He lowered his voice to a soft whisper, “They _used_ to be goldfish.”

“…What?”

“They died,” Matt drooped his head again, fixated on the floor to avoid Mello’s glare. “This morning I went to feed them, and I guess the filter didn’t work.”

There was a long silence. Matt didn’t dare say anything more.

Mello took a deep breath. “So you had fish. And you had to leave to feed them, but they were already dead?”

Matt just nodded solemnly.

“Well,” Mello said, his demeanor changing dramatically, “I suppose there’s only one thing to do then!”

Matt readied himself, “What?”

Mello grinned, “Get you some new fish of course!”

“…new... fish…” Matt looked up in confusion, “Pardon??”

“Come on then,” Mello said, taking his coat. “Let’s go get some fish.”

 

**\- - -**

 

Matt was surprised by two things. The first was the ease with which Mello believed his story. The reason for this was either a) Matt was a much more convincing actor than he originally thought, or b) Matt was a sort of a blind spot to Mello. He didn’t ponder this for long however, because he was soon surprised by the second thing.

Mello’s idea of replacing Matt’s bowl of imaginary goldfish was to buy an aquarium. A tropical, wall-sized aquarium. Matt protested, saying that it wouldn’t even fit in his room. Also because he actually didn’t know a thing about caring for fish.

Mello brushed him off, saying that he’ll find a way to make it fit. Together, they picked out a variety of tropical fish.

After Mello had paid for the aquarium supplies and the fish, Matt decided that he wanted to get one of those miniature treasure chests for the aquarium’s bottom. He ran back to the cashier to buy the little chest while Mello went to unload the rest of the purchases.

“Sorry kiddo,” the cashier said, “we don’t take Canadian money.”

Matt realized that among the American one dollar bills, he was also holding a blue Canadian five dollar bill. He quickly shoved it back in his pocket, mumbling an apology. He looked back to Mello, relieved that the other was already far in the parking lot. Elli had told him, after all, that Matt was a student from _England_.

He paid for the treasure chest and went out of the store, trying to still his fluttering heartbeat. He didn’t want to answer any more questions that would entangle him further in this web of lies.

As he approached the car, he saw that Mello was on the phone.

“—just get 20 of the AMK-75s, up to AMK-100 if they have it. What? No, don’t get the AR-15. Are you mad?”

Noting by the subject of guns, Matt figured that Mello was likely on the phone with Nick. He also noted that the phrase ‘are you mad’ is very reminiscent of British English, although Mello never spoke with an accent.

“Listen, the AR-15 uses a direct impingement system. Do you know what that means? It’s basically the same as ‘shit where you eat.’ Don’t get those.” Mello took the little treasure chest from Matt and added it to the other supplies in the trunk, all whilst giving orders.

Matt wondered what an impingement system was.

“Take care, Nick,” Mello opened the passenger door for Matt and got in the car himself. “Call me when it’s done.”

When he hung up, Matt asked, “Are those guns you were talking about? Why do you need so many?”

“We sell them,” Mello said calmly, starting up the car. “We sell a lot of things.”

 _‘So you do,’_ Matt gestured up some courage, “What else do you sell? Other than guns?”

Mello smiled slyly, “What else do _you_ think we sell, Matt?”

It was a trap, Matt knew it. He had to seem as oblivious as possible. “Do you sell drugs?”

“Hm, sometimes.”

“Organs?”

“Ugh, no, not anymore.”

“Assassinations?”

“No, not really our thing to do the dirty work.”

“…Information?”

Mello turned his head slightly to look at Matt, “Information? What do you mean by that?”

Matt bit his lip, “I dunno… like, inside intel on stuff?”

“Intel on _what,_ Matt?”

“I heard Mike mention something about stocks,” Matt lied, “maybe intel on that?”

Mello scoffed, “I need to duct tape his mouth shut one day, I swear.”

“So you _do_ sell information?” Matt asked hopefully, gaining confidence. “How can you get it in advance? Do you have moles in the big corporations?”

“You’re asking an awful lot of questions, Matt.” Mello said in a warning tone as he pulled up to Matt’s apartment building across the street from the Parlor.

Matt decided it was best to shut up for now. He led Mello upstairs to his room and opened the door.

“God, what a mess,” Mello coughed from the dust as he stepped inside. “You leave your clothes on the floor? Didn’t your parents teach you how to clean?”

Matt turned red from shame, quickly picking up the clothes. “N-no, I grew up in an orphanage…” He tossed the clothes on his bed haphazardly.

Mello turned to him, “Did you? …Interesting.” He looked around the room, “Well, you were right; it’s definitely not going to fit here.”

“I told you,” Matt said, carefully eyeing the part of his mattress under which his laptop was hidden. “So what now?”

Mello hit his fist into his palm, “We bring it to the Parlor, of course!”

 

**-Present Day, Elmira, New York-**

Nick put his phone away, shrugging at Mike. “He said no AR-15s. Sounds like he has some kinda grudge against them.”

“Damn it!” Mike exclaimed, “I already put in an order of 50 of them for next month!”

“Well, _you’re_ gonna have to be that one to tell him that.”

Nick and Mike were standing at the New York-Pennsylvania border, waiting for a shipment of weapons to arrive. They were in a secluded area with nothing for miles in sight.

A few months after joining the team, Mello realized that Nick could use his ties to the Californian underworld to secure trade deals. Although hailing from San Francisco, Nick had many contacts in Los Angeles and Sacramento from his time with the Arcana.

Through Nick, Mello would purchase weapons in vast amounts and then sell them at a mark-up in New York. Nick refused to go back to California for any reason, so all the shipments had to cross many borders in secret vehicles.

This was obviously a much more expensive method of transport, but only Nick could negotiate with the Arcana dealers and he would not fly over there. Not only was the San Francisco police department still on the search for him, but it was also much too painful to step onto the soil of his old home.

Mostly he was afraid of having to face his father or grandfather again, who had likely not forgiven him for bludgeoning his brother five years ago. Nick was also reluctant to find out whether the Arcana’s High Priestess and best murderess had found another partner.

So, instead of flying Nick out to California, the shipments would travel north from California through Nevada and Idaho, and then head East through the Canadian prairies. Upon reaching Ontario, the merchandise would be sent across Lake Erie (which was less guarded than Lake Ontario) and into Pennsylvania, where it would finally be picked up at the New York border at Elmira.

The two of them had done these trades countless times, and have only encountered problems once, when the courier demanded a cut of the profits or he’d spill the beans. Nick got rid of him fairly quickly.

Mike sat on a plank of wood and groaned, “Ugh, they’re late! I need to be back soon to help Elli decorate!”

Nick checked his watch. “I wonder what the holdup is. Hope they didn’t get caught along the way.”

A few minutes passed, and the two men could see an unmarked van coming up the unpaved road.

“Fuckin’ finally,” Nick said, “You have the new orders ready?”

“Yeah,” Mike handed him the papers. “Maybe we can get the AR-15s off the supply chain, if it’s not too late.”

“We’ll see.” Nick was not the best negotiator, but he had enough practice to know what he was doing. And he always armed – a gun often speaks louder than words.

The van pulled up in front of them and stopped. The windows were tinted, for security, and the doors had number pad locks instead of key locks.

“It’s about fuckin’ time,” Nick grumbled.

The driver side door creaked open as the courier stepped out. Nick’s jaw fell open.

“…Amelia?”

 

**-Present Day, 12:15pm-**

“Goddamn it, Mattie!” Elli stomped her foot, “You know I love you but what part of ‘don’t come till 3:00’ did you not get through your little ginger head?!”

Matt had just stepped through the Parlor doors, carrying fish supplies, when Elli ambushed him. “I— but, Mello said—”

“What even is all this?” She grabbed a small net, “What are you doing?”

Mello walked in through the door, pushing a cart which held the giant aquarium on top of it. “Surprise! Time for another upgrade.”

“Another _what?_ ” She seethed, glaring holes through him. “Did you have to do this _today?_ ”

“Why, were you planning something?” Mello looked around the parlor. “This won’t take long.”

“Argh!” Elli hit something under the counter, and the sound of a balloon popping resonated through the room.

Matt stumbled back, hiding behind Mello.

Calmly, the blond took out a small clear bag full of water. Inside there was a small black fish, with a fluttering skirt fin and a long tail. “Don’t you want to meet this little guy?”

Elli gasped, “Is that a ghost knife fish?” She practically leapt over the counter, carefully grabbing the bag. “Oh it’s so cute! I’m gonna name it Casper!” She spun around with the fish, cooing at it.

Mello smiled at Matt, “Crisis averted.”

Elli held the bag with the fish to her chest, “Alright fine, set up your fish tank, but do it quickly! And where the hell is Mike?”

“He and Nick should be back soon,” Mello said, unloading the cart with Matt.

Elli sighed and starting moving aside tables for the aquarium’s placement. “So, um, your face then… Is that gonna be permanent?”

Mello grimaced, “Probably. Matt patched me up pretty well though.”

Matt looked down, “It was nothing… I still think you should see a doctor.”

“I might call someone in later,” Mello said. “It’s really no big deal.”

Elli placed her fish down, helping out with the installation. “It’s about time you got a scar, Melly. All the great mob bosses have ‘em.”

Matt frowned, “What if it gets infected or something?”

“Let’s change the subject, hm?” Mello was in the process of installing the glass when Mike ran in through the door.

“Guys! It’s Nick, he— Whoa, what is this??” He gaped at the new addition to the Parlor’s wall, losing his train of thought.

Mello turned to face him, “It’s an aquarium. What’s going on with Nick? Where is he?”

Mike faltered, “Oh, right. Yeah he’s coming but he’s not alone!”

“What do you mean?” Elli asked, looking toward the door.

“I have some great news everyone!” Nick announced, stepping through the doors of the Parlor shortly after Mike.

And indeed, he was not alone. At his side was a woman, arm-in-arm with him. She had piercing black eyes and flowing dark hair which fell over bare shoulders. She was looking down, wistfully.

In a suspicious tone, Mello asked, “And who is this?”

Nick put an arm around the woman, “My wife! Amelia, these are the other guys I work with: Mello, Elli, and… uh, Max.”

“Matt,” the redhead corrected quietly, studying the new person before him.

“Right, sorry,” Nick went on, “guys, this is Amelia.”

The woman bowed her head down, holding her hands together in a polite gesture. “It is such a pleasure to meet you all,” her voice was melodic, carrying a thick Italian accent.

“Amelia,” Elli said pensively, tilting her head to the side, “As in, the Amelia that, if I remember correctly, slept with your brother and ultimately ruined your life? _That_ Amelia?”

“Uh, well…” Nick looked away awkwardly as Amelia took a step forward.

“I know that I may never fully repent for my actions,” she said. “I was careless and I truly am sorry. I can only pray that my dear Nicholas can find it in his heart to forgive me. I thank you all for taking him in when he had no one.”

“And what made you decide to come find him after half a decade?” Mello asked.

Amelia looked to Nick lovingly, “I have spent all this time searching for him! I left the Arcana. I could not bear to be without him.”

“Right,” Mello said as he locked eyes with Nick, “A word outside please? Alone.”

Nick, who was still blushing at Amelia’s comment, nodded back. The two of them stepped outside of the Parlor, the doors jingling as they closed.

Matt watched the scene unfold with confusion. He hadn’t known that Nick had a wife, let alone an unfaithful one. He was also intrigued by the name ‘Arcana,’ certain that he saw it before in the case files at his Toronto office. His boss would be very pleased with this information.

Amelia looked to Mike and Elli, ignoring Matt’s presence. “Are you two friends of Nicholas’?” She then looked only to Elli, “Perhaps more that friends?”

Elli gagged, “Ew! Nah lady, you can have him.”

“He is our friend,” Mike said. “He talks about you a lot. Especially when he’s drunk.”

“Oh does he?” Amelia smiled, “Good things, I hope?”

Mike looked away, “Uh… sure.”

She glanced at the door, behind which Mello and Nick were talking. “Is this blond man your leader? He looks awfully young.”

“He’s more than capable,” Mike snapped.

Elli crossed her arms, “What do you hope to accomplish here, anyway? Why come back to Nick? Why now?”

Amelia sighed, tucking some hair behind her ear. “I want to start over, with him. I want to settle down, perhaps have children. I am not getting any younger and, well, I would rather be here with Nicholas than back home without him.”

Elli laughed, “Nick? A father? Good luck with that.”

“Think what you must,” Amelia said. “I understand your harsh judgments. But I do love him still and want to spend the rest of my life with him.”

“Wasn’t it dangerous for you to come all the way here?” Mike asked.

“You underestimate how much I wished to find Nicholas,” she replied, putting a hand to her chest. “Danger means nothing to me, not anymore.”

Elli looked to Mike, then back to Amelia. “Well, I guess we don’t really know your side of the story. Want some ice cream?”

Amelia smiled a beautiful smile, “I’d love some, dear.”

 

**\- - -**

 

“Alright Nick,” Mello said as soon as the door shut behind them. “Start talking.”

“Look chief, I know I mighta said some nasty things about Amy in the past, but I think she really changed!” Nick said. “She was so happy to see me. On the whole drive back, she talked about how she was sorry and that she still loves me. Can you believe she’s still wearing her wedding band? I gotta find mine now too.”

Mello raised an eyebrow, “After all that’s happened, you trust her?”

Nick nodded, “And you can trust her too! It’s like, the biggest crime to betray the Arcana. If she left them to come here to me, she made a huge decision.”

“No offense Nick, but why would she do that? You told me before that she was high up on the hierarchy. The High Priestess, was it?”

“Well, I guess she finally came to her senses!” Nick boasted. “Love’s a powerful thing, chief. She’s a new woman, and she wants to be with me.”

Mello had never seen Nick this happy before, not even during the most exhilarating of missions. “…Don’t show her the underground for now, got it? She can come to the Polar Parlor but stay with her at your place or get her a hotel room nearby.”

“But chief—”

“That’s an order.” Mello said harshly.

“Fine,” Nick hung his head, “but you’ll see you’re wrong about her.”

“I hope I am. For your sake.”

 

**-The Next Day, 5:47pm-**

Matt sat on the floor of his room in front of many papers and his laptop. Whatever Elli had been planning yesterday, she pushed it to this evening, and Matt was absolutely prohibited from entering the Polar Parlor until sun down.

They had wasted the majority of the previous day installing and filling up the aquarium with all sorts of tropical fish. The tank was at least a meter in height and covered the entire western wall of the Parlor.

Despite initial protests, Elli was ecstatic over the new addition to her shop and immediately decorated it with polar-related stickers and banners. She even added a new flavor: Arctic Aqua.

Matt considered telling his boss about his excellent excuse skills, but decided against it, considering how close he came to being revealed. He also exchanged all of his Canadian money into American bills.

Throughout the process, the team also got to know Nick’s wife. When she stepped out to use the washroom, Mello had told Matt and the others not to inform her of the underground floors. Matt was impressed that no one said anything prior to that, but figured the group was familiar with keeping secrets.

He was wary by the sudden arrival of this mysterious woman, but she seemed friendly enough, and Nick assured them over and over that she was to be trusted. Matt wondered if she would be initiated as he was.

He did a quick search of the CSIS database for Arcana, curious to see where Nick and his wife hail from. He wasn’t surprised that Nick was part of an organized crime gang, although it did seem much more prestigious than Matt could have imagined. He found it hard to envision Nick as an assassin, but the woman definitely looked deadly. He sent a quick email to his boss about the Arcana.

Matt lit a cigarette and skimmed the text. If the Manhattan Mafia had ties to California, on the other side of the country, then they likely had ties to other states as well. This would make tracking down the whole group an extremely difficult task.

However, Matt reasoned, it was definitely here that the insider trading was taking place. He already determined that Mello was selling stock information – this much was clear. The only problem was figuring out _how_ he got it in the first place.

Matt began writing up reports for his superiors. In messy handwriting, he jotted down the information he had on the Mafia members on a yellow note pad.

  

As Matt was writing, a knock came at the door.

He froze. Who could be at his apartment? Only Mello and Elli knew he was staying here. What reason would Elli have to come by? That means it must be Mello.

Matt shouted, “One sec!” He quickly piled his notes on top of one another and shoved them under his bed. He kept the computer out, but closed everything other than a music streaming program and Reddit.

He opened the door as calmly as he could. He was right – Mello was standing in the doorway with an irritated look on his face.

“Matt,” he said, “I need you to do something for me.”

Matt stepped aside, letting him enter. “What is it?”

“You’re good with computers, right? I have a bad feeling about Nick’s ‘wife,’” Mello said as he walked into the room and sat on the edge of Matt’s bed. “…Were you sitting on the floor? Do you need a desk?”

“N-no, no, I’m fine!” Matt picked up his laptop quickly. “What’s going on? What do you need me to do?”

Mello sighed, “I think she’s hiding something. I don’t suppose you could get into her phone records, could you?”

“Not without her phone,” Matt lied. He had programs that could trace phone calls with just the number, but that would mean opening CSIS software in front of the enemy. “Would you be able to get it?”

“I doubt it. She holds onto it for dear life. What about emails?”

Matt pondered this. “I could, if you know her email address.”

“Ah, good.” Mello sent a quick text, waiting for the response. “Elli exchanged emails with Amelia. Something about cake recipes.”

 _‘It’s been less than a day and he already suspects her,’_ Matt thought as he fumbled with his computer. “What, uh, makes you think she’s not trustworthy? Was it something she did?”

“Hm, I’m not sure. Something about her doesn’t sit right with me.” He handed over his cell phone, open to a text message from Elli with an email address.

“A gut feeling?” Matt asked, typing in the email.

“I guess you could put it that way,” Mello said. “But there are things she does that warrant suspicion. When Nick offered her a hotel room, she demanded to stay with him instead.”

“What if she just wants to be with him?”

“Or she wants to know the location of his home. Also, it’s very fishy to me that she would abandon her post in California just to be with Nick.”

“With all due respect,” Matt half-smiled, “haven’t you ever been in love?”

Mello shot him a look, “Sorry?”

“Nothing!” Matt looked down at the keys, hiding a blush. “Okay, I’m in her inbox.”

“That was quick,” Mello said, peering at the screen. “You taught yourself how to hack into people’s emails?”

“Um, well yes,” Matt mentally cursed at himself for getting into the email so quickly. He could have at least made it seem like it was a hard task. He needed to change the subject quickly. “Look, here’s an email with an attachment.”

“Open it.”

Matt double clicked on the email.

 

 

Mello made a _tsk_ sound, shaking his head. “I fucking knew it.”

“Holy shit,” Matt stared at the screen, “she’s working for the cops?”

Mello stood, ignoring the question. “Thank you, Matt. This was all I needed to know.”

“Wait, what are you gonna do?” Matt closed the laptop anxiously, “What about this deputy chief guy? Doesn’t this mean they already know our location? And what about Nick?”

“Come with me,” Mello said in a voice just above a whisper, “I’ll show you what we do to traitors.”

 

**-Later that day-**

The hall on the 7th basement floor underneath the Polar Parlor was longest in the entire building. The air was cold and smelled faintly of iron and salt.

The floor was unevenly layered and the ceiling hung lower than seemed normal. There were a couple of rooms along the sides, resembling dungeon cells. At the end of the narrow hall was a metal door which led into a spacious room.

Inside the room were a couple of chairs, an intercom and a wall-sized window. Matt sat in one of the chairs and Mello in the one beside him.

On the other side of the window, which appeared as a one-way mirror, was an interrogation room. In it stood a withered table and a single chair. Amelia was sitting in the chair, head down. Lucy was leaning against the table, examining her nails, waiting for orders.

Matt hadn’t seen how Amelia was brought down here, but he reasoned she must’ve been knocked out, for she was just now regaining consciousness.

“Shouldn’t Nick be here?” Matt asked, looking around the room.

“He’s listening,” Mello pointed to a microphone that was on the corner of the table. “He didn’t want to see this.”

Matt gulped. What was there to see? Just an interrogation, right?

He was taking mental notes of the situation to relay to his boss later in the day.

Amelia raised her head, taking in her surroundings. “…dove sono?” She glanced at Lucy, “Chi sei?”

Matt blinked, “What is she saying?”

“It’s Italian,” Mello said, pressing the intercom button. “Dovete parlare inglese ora. We know who you are, Amelia.”

Amelia tensed up, glaring at the mirror in front of her. “Vaffanculo, bastardo!”

Matt wasn’t sure what she said, but it sounded pretty colourful.

Mello sighed. “Lucy?”

In a swift motion, Lucy had Amelia by the hair. She pulled it downwards, twisting it in her hand.

Amelia gritted her teeth and grabbed Lucy by the wrist, “You forget where I come from, puttana. You made a mistake by not tying my hands.” She stood from the chair, delivering a punch to Lucy’s face.

Lucy dodged and the fist made contact only with her cheek. She wiped a small speck of blood from the side of her mouth and returned the assault with a kick to Amelia’s stomach.

The two women attacked one another, a flurry of black and pink movements swirling in the room.

Matt watched in horror, “Will Lucy be alright?! Why didn’t you handcuff Amelia?”

Mello chuckled, “Don’t worry. Lucy is just humoring our guest. A tired suspect speaks more willingly.”

Sure enough, in a few moments Matt heard a petrifying _crack._

Mello grimaced, “And there it is.”

Lucy had pinned Amelia onto the table, head first, and was holding her arm behind her back. Matt realized that the crack must’ve been Lucy breaking her arm.

Amelia cried out, squirming underneath Lucy’s weight. The pink-haired girl just gazed at the mirror with questioning look.

“That’s enough, Lucy,” Mello said through the intercom. Lucy stepped aside and Amelia cradled her broken arm with the other. “So, can we speak now, signora?”

Amelia exhaled a shaky breath. “…What do you want from me?”

“Tell me why you’re here,” Mello said calmly.

“To be with Nicholas, of course!” She spat, “Why else?!”

From the corner of the interrogation room, Lucy scoffed under her breath.

Mello leaned forward in his chair, “Now we both know that’s not true.”

“With god as my witness, I tell you this is the truth,” Amelia said.

“There’s no need to bring god into this,” he said. “See, I’m just a little confused. What would you, the High Priestess assassin of the almighty Arcana, be doing here? Certainly it’s not because you love Nick, no, because then you wouldn’t have fucked his brother.” Mello shrugged, “Don’t you agree, Luce?”

Astonished, Matt could only marvel at the calmness in the blond’s voice. He watched as Lucy nodded her head emphatically.

 “So then one must wonder,” Mello continued, “what purpose you could have to come here. I’ll give you one more chance to tell me.”

Amelia’s eyes burned with anger. “Mistakes happen! I know now that it’s Nicholas I must be with. I came here only for him.”

“Is that your final answer?”

Amelia scoffed, “Sei sordo _e_ stupido?”

At this, Mello stood and went over to Matt’s chair. Before the boy could protest, Mello covered his eyes with one hand and said, “Alright, Lucy.”

After that, all Matt could hear was screaming. It shook him down to the core, but he was unable to move from the chair. He could feel the colour draining from his face.

Finally, he heard Amelia’s desperate plea, “Stop! _Vi prego_ , per favore…!”

From behind Matt’s chair, Mello said, “You’re not here for Nick, are you?”

“No!” Amelia cried, “No I am not! I couldn’t care _less_ about what happens to that scum!”

Mello removed his hand from Matt’s eyes, “Then why are you here?”

Matt couldn’t hold back the gasp that escaped his mouth. There were smears of blood on the floor and the table, and he could see that Amelia’s fingers were wrangled into impossible positions. Her nose was broken and he thought he could see a tooth beside Lucy’s foot.

He had to physically force back the vomit that was collecting at the base of his throat. He looked at Lucy, who was wiping the palms of her hands on her dress, completely composed.

“I am here because I made a deal,” Amelia’s voice shook with pain but also with anger. “To get time off my jail sentence in exchange for Nicholas’ location.”

“And did you already pass along the whereabouts?”

“Yes, I did,” Amelia said with slight satisfaction. “The police will be coming here very shortly to apprehend Nicholas and take him where he belongs. To wither away in jail along with his family.”

Mello sighed sadly. “You hear that, Nick?”

From elsewhere in the building, Nick’s voice traveled through the intercom. “…Loud and clear, chief.”

Amelia suddenly laughed, “Oh, you’re listening too, are you, te stronzo?!” She glowered at the microphone, “You coward! You dare let a woman beat me half to death – you can’t even do it yourself! I _never_ loved you. Rot in hell, Nicholas.”

Before she could speak more, Lucy brought down both fists upon her head, knocking her out. Matt looked away, covering his mouth.

“Sorry you had to hear that, Nick.” Mello put a hand on Matt’s head softly, “And sorry you had to see that. I didn’t think she’d resist so much.”

Matt could barely speak as he stood slowly. “E-excuse me,” he ran out of the room and into the hall to the nearest trash can, expelling the contents of his dinner.

“…Maybe I shouldn’t have brought him with me,” Mello said to himself, waving Lucy out of the interrogation room. “Do what you want with the body. For now, we have to deal with the cops when they get to the Parlor.”

Lucy nodded, following Mello into the hall.

Matt was on the floor, clutching the garbage can with shaky hands. _‘This is what they do to liars,’_ he thought, _‘this is what they would do to me.’_

Mello crouched down beside him, putting a hand on his back gently. “Hey, come on. Don’t be so scared – Lucy could have done much worse if she wanted to.”

Matt paled, hurling into the trash can again.

“Okay, maybe that wasn’t the right thing to say!” He rubbed Matt’s back, “Sorry, sorry, I’m not so good at judging people’s tolerance to this sort of thing. I won’t make you come to any more interrogations, alright? No shame in that!”

Matt could hardly think straight. _‘I have to get out of this place. I have to finish my investigation and get the hell out before they kill me.’_

“Can you walk?” Mello helped the boy up, keeping an arm under him for support.

Matt managed a slight nod and the two of them followed Lucy into the elevator.

“I’ll get you some water,” Mello said, pressing the ground floor button. “And you should probably change, Lucy.”

Lucy looked down at her clothes, which were crusting with blood. She shrugged.

When they reached the ground floor, Lucy went off to change. Mello handed Matt a water bottle and started towards the staff door that led into the Polar Parlor.

“If you’re not feeling well Matt, you should wait on one of the other floors for now. There is still the matter of dealing with the cops that will show up here looking for Nick,” he said, opening the door and ushering Matt in before him.

**“SURPRISE!!!”**

Elli and Mike jumped out from behind the counter, popping streamers and confetti guns into the air. There was a banner that hung along the wall that read ‘Welcome to the team, Matt!’ and balloons were tied to chairs and tables in the parlor.

Immediately, Matt fainted.

“Ah, jeez…” Mello caught him swiftly, “Was this really the right time, guys?”

Elli’s jaw fell open, “What happened?! Where were you guys? I’ve been planning this for days! Where’s Amelia?”

Mello groaned, “This is why communication is important. Forget all that. We have to clean this up immediately – I have a new job for you.”

 

**\- - -**

 

Matt awoke on a familiar couch.

He sat up, looking around. He was alone in Mello’s office. He checked his phone to see how much time had passed and realized it was already night.

Every time he closed his eyes, he could see the scene from the interrogation room. Standing slowly, Matt walked over to the desk. He wondered where Mello was and when he’d come back.

They were probably dealing with the police that were sent by Amelia’s confidants from San Francisco, he reasoned. Depending on the convincing they’d need, Matt might be left alone in the office for quite some time.

He swallowed his fear and started looking around the office. The adrenaline from the day’s events spurred him to finish his investigation as soon as possible. He couldn’t afford to be here any longer.

He looked through the desk drawers; most of them were locked. The ones that opened held only a first aid kit, some folders, dozens of chocolate bars and a few books. Matt took out the folders, but found no relevant information.

He slammed the drawer shut, crossing his arms. There must be something else in the room. Something hidden from sight, since even locked drawers can be pried open with the right tools.

Matt searched the floor under the desk and under the couch. Then, he moved on to the wall. He ran a hand along the plaster, a little higher than was comfortable, to mimic where someone of Mello’s height would hide something.

Then, there it was. Matt felt a shift under his fingers and number pad revealed itself on the eastern wall.

He gasped quietly, examining the buttons. He ran his hand along the same spot on the wall and the lock hid itself again.

But what of the code? Mello used gloves most of the time, so fingerprints wouldn’t help. As well, Matt didn’t know how many digits were necessary to open it.

But he was _so_ close. He was sure that whatever was inside the locked wall compartment held the answer to the insider information. If he could just try enough times, surely he would figure it out—

The lock of the door clicked.

Matt stumbled back over to the couch before the door could open, and thanked god that he re-hid the number pad.

Mello came into the room, holding a Subway bag and a cup of something warm. “Hey, you’re up? I brought you some tea and food.”

Matt nodded, “Thanks but… I’m not really that hungry.”

“I figured as much,” Mello placed the bag on his desk, “but at least drink this. It’s Earl Grey; I figure since you’re from England you’d like it.”

Matt took the tea, “Thank you.” He held it in his hands but didn’t drink, staring at it instead to avoid looking at the wall where the safe was hidden. “…Did the cops come?”

“Just two detectives, but they were already suspicious of her so they didn’t cause us too much trouble. They think she ran off and are now gonna spend their time and effort trying to find her.” Mello sat on the couch beside Matt.

Matt bit his lip, “And… will they find her? Or just her corpse?”

Mello took a deep breath, “Look Matt. Sometimes these things have to happen. It’s an unfortunate part of the job… So, I understand if this freaked you out.” He glanced at Matt, “and if you want to leave.”

Matt’s eyes widened. _‘Leave? He’s offering me to leave? A way out?’_

This was a chance to escape the Manhattan Mafia alive and never look back. He’d have other cases, right? He could leave, just like that.

 _But the safe!_ It was _so_ close. And he already spent so much time on this case…

Matt shook his head, “No! I don’t want to leave, I just… I wasn’t expecting that, but I’m part of the team now, aren’t I?”

With a look of what seemed like relief, Mello smiled. “That you are. I’m glad you want to stay. What’s keeping you here?”

“Lots of things!” Matt exclaimed. “Like, going through that mission where I thought everyone died. And it’s fun with you guys, and in the ice cream shop. And you got me those fish…” his voice trailed off.

“Matt? What’s wrong?” Mello asked worriedly, turning to face him.

What was wrong was that Matt realized he wasn’t lying about any of those things. He did have fun. And he did feel a strong bond to the team because of the mission. But it also petrified him to think about what would happen if they found out that he was a spy.

If they knew that he told his boss about Lucy or that he’d been snooping around Mello’s office or that he was researching about all of them and passing along the information like a mole, then he’d be as good as dead.

But that was his job, and he was determined to do it. Even if it cost him his life.

Matt looked down, clasping his hands together. “I-I’m just… A little shaken up.”

Mello nodded sympathetically, “I understand. You need some rest and it’s getting late now, so how about you head home?”

 _‘But the safe!’_ Matt hesitated, “Wait!” He didn’t realize it, but he had grabbed Mello’s wrist. “I… Can I stay here for the night?” He needed another chance to look at that lock – to figure out the combination.

Mello blinked, “What? You want to stay here, on the couch?”

“Can I?” Matt pleaded. “I just… I don’t want to be alone. Can I stay with you?”

An unfamiliar expression flickered over Mello’s face. “Matt. I think I know what you’re doing.”

Matt froze. All at once, his worst fears were being realized. “I… I don’t know what you mean…”

“I think you do,” Mello said.

Matt’s heart was threatening to burst from his chest. He was already imagining all the terrible things Lucy would do to him.

Suddenly, Mello was on top of him, inches away from his face. “…You’re trying to seduce me, aren’t you?”

Matt, face to face with Mello, could only stare. “I… I…” He couldn’t say yes. But if he said no? The only other conclusion would be that he was spying. “I…”

Mello put a hand on Matt’s cheek. “Well, you’re succeeding.” And he kissed him.


	7. Reunion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As Matt and Mello grow closer, they find out that they share something from their pasts. Meanwhile, Matt's boss begins to doubt the mission's progress.

**-May 2003, Winchester, England-**

 

“Ugh, I can’t believe we have to do this.”

“This is so stupid.”

“I wanna go play outside!”

 

An old man most commonly known as Roger stood at the front of a small auditorium, rubbing his forehead in frustration at the complaints flying at him from his young audience.

 

“We never got a tour, why should they?!”

“I don’t give a crap about these newbies anyway.”

“Yeah, I don’t wanna do this!”

 

Roger cleared his throat, tapping the microphone in front of him. It was early in the day but he was already getting a headache from this ruckus.

“Everyone, please quiet down,” he said.

When the noise level in the room persisted, he raised his voice. “Everyone! Quiet!”

Slowly, the kids settled down in their seats. There were around twenty young teens in the audience, arranged in rows, each with either an irritated look or one of disinterest.

Mello sat in the third row, and, to his dismay, beside Near. They were seated alphabetically by letter, after all. He had his arms crossed and was busy counting the tiles on the floor.

Roger continued, “Thank you. So, as many of you have been informed, we have received a number of new additions to our Home over the last couple of weeks.” He gestured behind him, where a group of much younger kids stood huddled together on the stage.

“So send them back!” D called out from the first row, enticing giggles from the other teens.

“Quiet!” Roger hit the podium in front of him with an open palm. “One more outburst like that and I’ll cancel tomorrow’s movie night!”

The giggles died down immediately.

“As I was saying,” Roger went on, “our new residents are obviously unfamiliar with the grounds and the routine at the Home. So, to help them get settled in, Mr. Wammy and I have developed a partner system that will be implemented as of today.”

There were a few grumbles and whispers in the audience as Quillish Wammy stepped onto the stage and walked slowly over to the podium.

Mello studied the kids at the back of the stage. He remembered a few of them from the day he snuck out onto the roof to take a look at the arrivals.

The director and founder of the orphanage reached the microphone at last and spoke into it. “I am always expecting only the best from you young’uns. And I expect the best of you here. Each of you will become a mentor to one of these newcomers. They will be assigned to you by letter – matching your own – as we are now onto the third generation of the Home.”

Mello scanned the group, wondering who among them was also assigned an ‘M.’ He was not looking forward to wasting his precious free time babysitting.

“It will be your duty to watch over your mentees and bestow upon them your knowledge,” the old man continued. “Remember, the qualities of an extraordinary person do not cease at intelligence and resourcefulness.” He smiled, “It is also invaluable to have a kind heart and care for others.”

Some of the teens in the audience, Mello included, rolled their eyes at this statement. They all knew the fierce competition of becoming the best left no room for compassion.

“We will be calling mentors up one-by-one,” Wammy said. “When you hear your letter called, please come to the front.”

After eleven students had left their seats, Mello stood when ‘M’ was called. He reluctantly went to the front where Roger was waiting for him at the side of the stage.

“M, your job is to ensure that—”

“I know already, Roger.” Mello groaned, “Just get this over with.”

Roger gritted his teeth and sighed, “Fine. M, meet M.” He lightly pushed forward a young boy towards Mello. “He, uh, doesn’t speak much.”

Mello looked at the boy. He recognized him immediately from the bus – the red hair was pretty memorable. His eyes were cast down at the floor and he looked to be about five or six years old.

“Go on then,” Roger waved his hand in annoyance, “I’ve got more letters to get through.”

“Let’s go newbie,” Mello took the boy by his arm and led him out of the auditorium and outside to the garden.

When his arm was freed, the boy sat on the stone ground.

“Okay, so, here’s how things are gonna work,” Mello put his hands on his hips. “ _I’m_ in charge, got it? You listen to what _I_ say and no one else. I don’t care where you come from and I’m not gonna tell you where I come from and we’re just gonna get through this.”

To Mello’s surprise, the boy began to cry. In quiet sobs, tears streamed down his cheeks as he tried to wipe them away with a sleeve.

“Whoa, wait don’t cry!” Mello groaned, stomping his foot, “Shut up! Why are you crying?!”

The redhead covered his face with his hands and continued to sob. In between short gasps of air, Mello was able to make out the words “want” and “home.”

The blond shook his head and sat on the ground in front of the boy. “Look, I get it, okay? We were all like you at some point. You just gotta grow up and accept the fact that no one else wants you and that you’re gonna be stuck into this stupid house forever.”

The boy began to cry harder as Near came out to the garden with a 5-year old girl at his side. She was preoccupied with a large black-and-white die.

“Well, good to see that you’ve already screwed up yet another task, M,” Near sneered. “Can’t you do anything right?”

“Shut the fuck up, Near!” Mello stood and pulled up the crying redhead by the back of his shirt. “I’m gonna be the best mentor, you’ll see.”

“Yeah, sure you will,” Near scoffed. “Try not to traumatize him too much.”

“Whatever,” Mello said as he dragged his mentee away with him to his room, leaving Near in the garden.

He sat the boy on his bed and placed two hands on his shoulders. “Stop. Crying.” He looked around the room, “Look, here, you want some chocolate? Will that make you feel better?”

The boy sniffed, wiping some tears from his eyes. He watched as the blond got a chocolate bar out of his bedside drawer and held it out to him. Hesitantly, he took the chocolate and bit off a small piece.

Mello wiped his forehead in relief, “Phew. No crying, okay? It’s annoying.” He sat on the bed too, taking some chocolate for himself. “Sorry about saying that stuff. I’m just no good with kids.”

The redhead nibbled on the chocolate, watching Mello intently without saying anything.

“…stop staring at me like that,” Mello said, “it’s creepy. Anyway, now that you stopped crying, what’s your name?”

The boy tilted his head to the side. “…M?”

“No, stupid,” Mello flicked his forehead. “I mean the _name_ they gave you. Like your alias. I’m Mello.”

“Oh…” The boy rubbed his forehead. “…Matt.”

“Matt, huh?” Mello studied his face. “You have a lot of freckles.”

Matt blinked. “…You have long hair. Like a girl.”

“Hey!” Mello grabbed that chocolate out of Matt’s hands. “No more for you.”

Matt frowned, “Sorry.” He looked down, as if contemplating something. “…I wanna go home.”

“This is your new home,” Mello said. “I know it sucks, and I hate it too. But at least you’re not alone.”

“I’m not?”

“No, dummy!” Mello smiled, “You have me. I’ll protect you.”

 

**-Present Day, 11:30am-**

The team gathered in the usual meeting room on the 6th basement floor. Elli, Lucy and Mike sat on the couch while Nick opted to stay standing by the wall, unceremoniously quiet.

Mello sat across from them, going through some notes. The Parlor was being watched by Matt, at Elli’s request.

Mello cleared his throat, putting the papers aside. “There are two things that I need to cover in this meeting. The first is the matter of yesterday’s fumble with the California cops and the apparent loss of our Arcana suppliers.”

Nick stiffened, avoiding the looks of sympathy that were being cast his way by Mike and Elli.

“Now, I’m pretty disappointed in you, Nick,” Mello continued, “but I think you learning your lesson was punishment enough. You’re lucky those two cops didn’t go poking their noses into our business any further.”

“Weren’t there three cops, boss?” Mike asked, looking to Elli. “I think there were three.”

“Definitely three,” Elli confirmed.

“Well, whatever,” Mello said. “The point is that now we don’t have anyone to trade with from the west coast anymore. What happened to them, Nick?”

“Someone caved,” Nick mumbled quietly. “The whole group went down. Life sentences; some with death row.”

Mike offered a smile, “Looks like you dodged a bullet there, eh buddy?”

Nick didn’t look up. “…I just wish it wasn’t her they sent to find me.”

“Yes that whole ordeal was very unfortunate but now the problem is finding new suppliers,” Mello said coldly. “We have extra inventory for now, but it’ll run out soon and customers will notice. We need new dealers.”

Elli shot him a look, “…Don’t you think you’re being a tad inconsiderate? Nick just lost his wife after all.”

“I have no sympathy for a lack of good judgment,” Mello replied. “Nick assured me that we could trust Amelia and he was wrong. Had she posed a greater threat, I would consider firing him for this error. Plus, I had Lucy go easy on her anyway.”

Lucy nodded emphatically.

“Anyway,” he went on, “that was the first order of business. Anymore comments about this matter?”

Elli held her tongue and said nothing. The rest of the team stayed silent as well.

“Good. The second matter is that I want us to move to a new location.”

Mike gasped, “We’re movin’? Why?”

Mello shrugged, “I want an office above ground. With windows.”

His teammates exchanged confused glances with one another.

“…What about the Parlor?” Elli asked. “You want to move the base because you want windows? You built this underground tower in the first place.”

“Yeah, well, I changed my mind.” Mello replied absentmindedly. “The Polar Parlor can stay here, and so will the underground floors for storage.”

“Won’t that be a little inconvenient, boss?” Mike asked, a bit nervously. “I mean, we’d have to move between places a lot, don’tcha think?”

“Look, this _isn’t_ up for debate.” Mello said. “Lastly, in terms of tomorrow’s stocks, mark the NASDAQ up 8 basis points and gold down 38%.”

Nick looked up, “Uh, isn’t it 7 points?”

“…What?”

“Yeah,” Elli said. “In the memo you sent us earlier, NASDAQ was up 7. I already marked it down.”

Mello blinked. “Yeah? Well, whatever. Seven, then.”

Elli raised her brow, “Are you okay? You seem on edge and a little… distracted today.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Mello said hurriedly. “Meeting adjourned.”

 

**-The Night Before-**

Matt never asked for this.

When he took a job with the Canadian Security Intelligence Service, he never thought he’d end up in the States as an undercover agent.

When he took on the case, he never imagined that he’d be directly involved in multiple murders and working in organized crime with professional killers.

Mostly, he never thought that he could end up in the situation he was in right at this moment.

He was trapped between a rock and a hard place – or rather, between a couch and the leader of the Manhattan Mafia.

Several seconds passed before Mello broke the kiss at last. He still had his hand on Matt’s cheek and he stroked it gingerly.

“I never noticed just how many freckles you have…” he said under his breath. In fact, they were almost… familiar?

Matt couldn’t speak. A bright red blush had spread across his face as he scrambled for words. “I…”

“Don’t tell me I was wrong,” Mello said with a slight frown. “You _are_ trying to seduce me, aren’t you?”

Matt was at a complete loss. To disagree would be to raise Mello’s suspicious higher. It was a dangerous risk that Matt wasn’t willing to take. But, on the other hand, if he said yes, then… Then what?

Logical thought slowly returned to Matt’s mind. If Mello saw him in _that_ way, perhaps he’d be willing to part with more information. It would be the perfect way to find out how he operates.

Matt took a deep breath, “I… don’t know what I’m doing.”

“You don’t know?” Mello repeated quizzically. “Well, do you like me?”

Matt nodded cautiously. “I’m… confused.”

Mello sighed, “Yes, I gathered that much.” He stood and went to the desk. “Alright, if you don’t want to spend the night alone, you can stay here.”

In a daze, Matt had almost forgotten about the hidden wall compartment. He nodded again, sitting up. “Where do you sleep?”

“I don’t sleep much,” came the reply. “Relax, I won’t do anything to you.”

“Do… anything?” Matt blinked. “…… _Oh,_ ” He felt himself blush again and looked away to the door. “Um, don’t you need rest though?”

If he would just go to sleep, Matt could check the wall again and try to figure out the combination. If he could at least find out how many digits were necessary, he could run an algorithm on it later and use process of elimination to go through the possibilities.

“Don’t worry about me, Matt.” Mello said with a smile. “You had a long day; rest up.”

Truthfully, Matt wasn’t that tired. He was unconscious for quite a while after the interrogation and mostly just wanted to continue his investigation. If the safe was out of reach for now, he’d focus on other clues.

“…Can I ask you something?” Matt looked up, “What’s the deal with Lucy? I mean, she… she pretty much slaughtered that lady without even breaking a sweat.”

“Does she scare you?” Mello asked.

“Well, yeah,” Matt whispered, “How did she become so heartless?”

Mello shook his head, “She’s not heartless. Don’t ever say that – and especially not in front of Mike.”

Over the next couple of hours, Mello went over his teammates’ histories in detail. Matt listened in shock at the retelling of Lucy’s horrible treatment with the army, having to suppress the guilt that had already been building up ever since he last spoke to his boss.

He learned of Elli’s heartbreak and gambling past, which explained her aptness at poker, as well as Mike’s tragic losses and Nick’s complicated family situation.

All throughout this, he silently watched Mello speak. Matt was definitely confused. In fact, _confused_ would be to say the least.

He definitely felt something, but what? There was an odd familiarity mixed into his emotions – almost as if he’d known Mello somehow before.

“…And that’s how we came up with the idea of an ice cream parlor.” Mello concluded. “Any questions?”

“Yes, actually,” Matt said quietly. “What about you?”

“What about me?”

“Where do you come from?” Matt specified. “What’s your story?”

Mello hesitated. “…My story isn’t that interesting.”

“It is to me!” Matt said, a little too eagerly. “You’re not American, right? You came from somewhere else. I can tell by the way you talk.”

The blond walked over to Matt, putting a hand on his head. “It’s almost dawn. Try to get some sleep. We can talk more later.”

The feeling of Mello stroking his hair filled Matt with uneasiness. “I… think I know you from somewhere.” He looked up, studying Mello’s perplexed expression. “Have we met before?”

Mello didn’t answer. Instead, he fluffed the couch pillow and put it on the cushion. “Go to sleep, Matt. You’re not thinking straight.”

“Fine,” Matt mumbled, “but I’m not crazy.” He eventually drifted off into a restless sleep.

Mello stayed at his side as he slept, as promised. At first, Mello had been apprehensive about Matt. He dropped out of nowhere, and then found his way onto the team, and asked way too many questions.

But over time, Mello developed a sincere fondness for the redheaded boy, although he did hate his smoking. He loved the way that Matt was so nervous around him, and his cluelessness in everything he did. This was probably his first kiss, wasn’t it?

Mello felt a similar familiarity towards Matt. For some reason though, thinking about this made him feel guilty.

What could he possibly have to feel guilty about?

 

**-July 2006, Winchester, England-**

All the children in the Wammy’s house, along with their educational duties, also had assigned chores that changed on a rotational basis. On this sweltering summer’s day, Matt’s job was to get the mail.

The post office was about a twenty minute walk from the Home, but Matt ran all the way there to pick up the mail so he would have some spare time to stop by a small convenience store on the corner.

Upon arriving back at the large intricate gates of the orphanage, he held dozens of letters under one arm and a bag with some chocolates under the other.

He hopped up the front steps, heading inside. Rushing through the hallway, he bumped right into someone.

Dropping some letters in the impact, Matt reached down to pick them up quickly. “Sorry…!”

“This is why running isn’t allowed in the halls. Can’t you follow rules?”

Matt looked up to see that he had bumped into a taller boy with curly white hair and distant grey eyes. “Oh… Hi, N.”

Now a teenager, Near towered over Matt despite his slouched posture. He glanced down at Matt with disinterest. “So I guess you’re the Home’s new official ‘M,’ isn’t that right? Congratulations.”

Matt tilted his head in confusion, “Official M? What do you mean?”

“Oh? You mean you haven’t heard?” Near asked, a slight smirk tugging at his lips.

“Heard… what?” Matt stopped picking up the fallen mail to stare at the other boy.

Near twirled some hair on his finger, “The other M is gone.”

“Gone? I don’t understand…” Matt said quietly, clutching the bag of chocolate bars with a paling hand.

“You don’t understand? Well, that’s unfortunate.” Near walked around him, “I’m not wasting my time explaining it to you. You’ll figure it out.”

Matt scrambled to pick up the mail from the floor and ran up the stairs to the rooms. His heart was beating wildly as he reached a familiar door. He pushed on it and the door opened with ease.  

Matt dropped everything he was holding. The room was cleared.

Unwilling to believe the sight before him, Matt raced to the administrator’s office. All the while, he was imaging the reasons behind the emptiness of the room – maybe he got relocated? Maybe he’s on an assignment elsewhere? Maybe, maybe…

He stopped in front of Roger’s office and knocked multiple times.

“Come in,” beckoned the voice behind the door.

Matt opened the door with a shaky hand and stepped inside.

“Ah, Matt.” Roger peered over a file. “What can I help you with?” Underneath the desk, he quickly stuffed a piece of paper into the shredder.

“…Um,” Matt’s mouth was dry as he tried to speak. “Where… is Mello?”

Roger put down his papers and removed his glasses. “Mello. Yes, I suppose someone should have told you…”

“Where is he?!” Matt raised his voice, clenching his fists.

“How should I put this,” Roger said under his breath. “Mello is… no longer with us.”

As per the policy of the Wammy’s House, to discourage children from straying onto the wrong path, any runaways were considered terminated. To date, this had only happened twice: with a B and now an M.

Matt fell to his knees. “He’s… dead?”

“I’m sorry, Matt.” Roger sighed sadly. “He was sent on a mission out of town but he did not follow protocol. He got into some trouble, and, well… It is quite unfortunate.”

“I can’t believe this…” Matt whispered, “He left me?”

“Take this as a learning opportunity,” Roger said. “It’s better not to dwell on the past – we will help you forget this. Try not to get attached again.”

 

**-Present Day, 1:47pm-**

Matt was sitting on his bed in front of his laptop, waiting for his boss to come online. He lit a cigarette and looked out the window to the Parlor across the street.

He puffed out some smoke, contemplating his current situation. So much had happened; he could hardly wrap his head around it all.

Apart from witnessing the torture of Amelia and learning of all the histories of the others, there was also the matter of… the kiss.

Matt put a finger to his lip and blushed at the memory. How did he let himself get so flustered? And at the hands of his _target_?

Matt didn’t have any experience with kisses or anything of the sort. But he had to admit, although unexpected, it didn’t feel _bad_.

 _‘God, what am I thinking?!’_ He shook his head, trying to clear it of these intrusive thoughts. It was just business, after all. He was just doing his job. Yes, even if it meant feigning _that kind_ of interest, it was all part of being undercover.

Was it all feigned, though?

Matt thought back to the way he felt when the mafia boss was comforting him. Why did that interaction seem so familiar? And why did it fill Matt with such uneasiness?

There was still the matter of Matt not knowing anything about him. And yet, it felt as if he had known him all along.

Matt stared at the computer screen impatiently. Ever since his last conversation with his boss, he had been eaten away by guilt. Specifically, after hearing Lucy’s story. How could he betray her to such an extent?

He made up his mind. His job was to find out how the Manhattan Mafia deals in insider trading – it had nothing to do with capturing Lucy. If anything, to lessen his guilt, he would throw his boss off Lucy’s track.

Matt had been relieved to hear that Mike and Elli weren’t involved in anything terrible. Gambling, sure, but nothing murderous.

Finally, at two o’clock, Matt’s boss came online.

Matt sighed with relief, closing the computer.

Mello had told him about Lucy’s predicament with the strange horn-shaped military devices on her head and what happened to her because of them. If his boss thought she didn’t have any horns, then she’d be off the hook.

He did pass along information about the Arcana, but he figured CSIS wouldn’t be interested in an American gang, especially now that it was apparently broken up. All that was left was the safe in Mello’s office.

He wondered if there was some way to stop the insider trading without bringing harm to his team— _the_ team.

He groaned in frustration and got off his bed. Nothing left to do but go back to work.

 

\- - -

Mello was not having a good day.

He had spent a few hours trying to find a good location for a new office while simultaneously trying to establish new weapons trading deals.

Unfortunately, every place he looked at was not secure enough and his deals kept falling through. He spoke with four different contacts already, but they all had something in common: they were compromised by the law.

Just as with the Arcana, supplier after supplier became unavailable as many of their members were sent off to jail. It was an annoying coincidence.

He also couldn’t go up to the Parlor because he kept getting distracted by Matt’s presence.

He couldn’t focus on the task at hand without first figuring out what it was about the redhead that was so strangely familiar. He had to figure out why that kiss felt so bittersweet.

The answer was right at the tip of his tongue. He reached into his drawer and pulled out a chocolate bar.

He peeled off the wrapping slowly.

Matt was around ten years younger. He was from England. He grew up in an orphanage… An orphanage?

Mello furrowed his brows. He quickly grabbed his phone and dialed a number.

The automated voice said, “The number you are calling is long-distance. Extra charges may apply. Connecting now, please wait.”

Mello tapped his fingers against the desk impatiently until he finally heard a voice which he never thought he’d hear again.

“Hello? This is Roger Ruvie speaking.”

Mello chuckled, “I didn’t think you were still alive, old man.”

There was a pause on the other end. “…Who is this?”

“I can’t believe you don’t remember me, Roger,” Mello said, sounding hurt. “I know I was number two and all, but still.”

A quiet gasp sounded through the receiver. “Mello? Is that you?”

“The one and only,” he said, “I need you to do something for me.”

“Why should I do anything for you?” Roger scoffed. “You had such potential, Mello. And you wasted it by running away.”

Mello rolled his eyes, “Spare me the speech, please. I would have rather killed myself than work with Near and you knew that.”

Roger sighed, “What do you want, Mello?”

“I need to know what became of the next generation M. Where is he now?”

“I can’t disclose that information.”

“Oh come on!” Mello whined, “At least tell me where he went after leaving the Home. How old is he now? Did he look the same when he left?”

“I am not obligated to give you any information about my students.” Roger said sternly.

“God, Roger, just tell me _something_ about him! Then I’ll leave you alone.”

“You’ll hang up if I tell you one thing about him?”

“Yes, yes. Out with it already!”

Roger sighed again, “Fine. In the year before he graduated, he was fourteen and picked up the bad habit of smoking from one of the tutors. He kept sneaking in packs and I had to keep confiscating them. Is that good enough for you?”

Mello exhaled a breath he didn’t realize he was holding. “…Yes. Thank you.” He hung up the phone slowly.

Now he knew why he felt so guilty when he was with Matt. As he contemplated this, a knock sounded on his office door.

 _‘Couldn’t have worse timing,’_ he thought. “Come in.”

The door was pushed open lightly by the entrant.

Mello was surprised, “Lucy? You’re the last person I expect to come see me.”

Lucy closed the door behind her silently and sat on a chair in front of Mello’s desk. She looked troubled, which was odd considering she rarely showed any emotion.

“What’s wrong?” Mello asked. “Is it Mike? Did he fuck something up again?”

Lucy shook her head, “...I’m being followed.”

“Followed?” Mello leaned in slightly, “Are you sure? By whom?”

“No, and I don’t know,” Lucy said hesitantly. “It just feels like someone is watching me. I will look behind me, and it’s as if someone hides.”

“Can’t you just kill them?”

“I can never find them,” Lucy continued, “and it’s always someone new.”

“Interesting…” Mello said. “Do you think they’re from the military?”

“No. I don’t think so.”

“Could it be your imagination, Luce? You’ve been here so long already. Or maybe you have a secret admirer.”

Lucy blinked. “I am being followed.”

“Alright, alright,” Mello nodded, “I’ll look into it.”

When Lucy left his office, Mello locked it from the outside and went up to the Polar Parlor. He spotted Matt at a table, leaning over it as he wiped it with a wash cloth, and had to try his best not to stare.

He coughed, “Uh, Matt. Let’s go for lunch.”

Matt looked back, “Oh, now?” He turned to Elli, “Can I?”

“Hmm, I dunno,” Elli said teasingly. “You did take an awfully long break earlier… And you came in late…”

“That’s ‘cause I passed out yesterday and wasn’t feeling good…! Because of your heart-attack inducing surprise!” He huffed angrily.

Elli laughed, “Okay, okay! But bring me back some lunch too.” She winked at Mello, having figured out that something shifted in the air between him and Matt. “Don’t be out too long, boys.”

Mello glared at her for a second, and then went out the door. “Come on, Matt.”

“Bye Elli!” Matt hurriedly followed the blond out the door. “Is everything okay? What’s the rush?”

“...” Mello slowed down, letting Matt catch up to him. As he did, their hands brushed each other lightly. “There’s something we need to talk about.”

Matt shoved his hands in his pockets nervously, “…something bad?”

“Depends on how you look at it,” Mello said as he turned into a side street before stopping at a small park. He sat on a bench and motioned for Matt to sit beside him.

Matt sat hesitantly, trying to read the other’s expression. He didn’t appear angry, which was a good sign. “So what is it?”

Mello was quiet as he collected his thoughts. The warm summer breeze passed through the trees and birds flew overhead. There were a few other people in the park but they were far enough away to give them privacy.

Matt waited anxiously.

“I need you to give me an honest answer to the question I am about to ask,” Mello said. “Can you do that?”

Matt gulped, “I’ll try.”

“Alright.” Mello turned to face Matt and looked him in the eyes, “You said before, when I was in your apartment a few days ago, that you grew up in an orphanage. What was it called?”

Matt listened to the question in confusion. What was Mello’s motivation to know where he grew up? He thought through the consequences of answering truthfully. On the one hand, it wasn’t really a secret – he was hired at CSIS because of his alum status.

On the other hand, what if answering truthfully would allow Mello to figure out he was an agent? Then again, the administration had no right to disclose information of graduates to anyone.

Plus, his job at CSIS wasn’t documented anyway. However, he had told Elli he was a student in England… He supposed he could back this up by saying that he only graduated recently.

After the single second it took Matt to think through the possibilities, he determined that it wouldn’t pose a danger to answer truthfully.

“It’s a private one, in Winchester. There aren’t even that many kids in it,” he said sincerely.

Barely audible, Mello asked, “Is it called the Wammy’s House?”

“Mhm!” Matt said with surprise. “How did you know? It’s pretty unheard of!”

Mello looked away uneasily, “Yeah… it is.”

“Wait a minute,” Matt mumbled to himself. “If you know it, then...” The revelation hit him like a truck. He stood suddenly, “You...”

Mello couldn’t bear to look at Matt’s face as a multitude of emotions filled his eyes. “...Yeah.”

Matt took a step away from the bench. All at once he was struck with confusion and sadness and rage. “I don’t believe it…! You’re _that_ Mello?!”

“The one and only,” the blond muttered.

“No!” Matt shook his head, “You can’t be… you can’t be because he’s dead!”

“Tch,” Mello scoffed under his breath, “the bastards told you I died? Typical.”

“I don’t believe you!” Matt pointed his finger at Mello accusingly, “You’re an impostor! How dare you say you’re him?” Tears glossed over his verdant eyes, “The Mello I knew would never leave me.”

Those words broke Mello’s heart. “You don’t understand Matt, I _had_ to leave! Please believe me,” he stood too, taking a step towards the redhead. “I didn’t think it would affect you so much… I couldn’t stay in that place anymore.”

Matt backed away, “You didn’t think it _would affect me?_ ” His voice was shaking now. “You didn’t think I would miss you?!”

Mello clenched his fist, “...I left you a note. That damned geezer must’ve gotten rid of it before you could find it.”

“I don’t believe you!” Matt cried. The few other people in the park were starting to glance at them.

“Matt, please…” Mello said quietly, “I’m telling the truth. You were the only person I cared about from that hellhole. I thought when you didn’t respond to my note that you had forgotten about me.”

Matt tried desperately to wipe the tears on his sleeve. “You left me. You left me in that terrible place with those terrible people that convinced me you were dead! I was so— I was _so alone!”_

Unable to take anymore, Mello took two swift steps toward the boy and pulled him to his chest tightly. “Please forgive me, Matt… I never meant to hurt you.”

Trapped in the embrace, Matt could only inhale Mello’s scent. The faint hint of chocolate and the flooding memories reduced Matt to a crying mess. He gripped the back of Mello’s shirt, crying into his chest.

“I’m so, so sorry,” Mello whispered. He lightly kissed the top of Matt’s head, “It won’t happen again.”

Matt felt the world as he knew it collapse around him. The job, the undercover mission, the evidence… It was all replaced by the comfort he felt at this moment, in Mello’s arms.

 

**-Toronto, 2:42pm-**

A man in a black suit sat at the head of the table in a meeting room. Behind him was a projector illuminating a presentation. It displayed various screenshots, maps and some photos.

The man looked out at the people that had gathered at the table in front of him. His three colleagues – a woman in pantsuit, a man with a striped suit jacket and another man with a plaid tie – were patiently waiting for him to begin.

He cleared his throat authoritatively. On his breast pocket shone an ID badge, reading Alex M. Koven. Throughout the organization, he was better known by his initials; AmKo.

“Thank you for coming so promptly on such short notice,” he said.

“Is this about the New York case?” asked the woman in the pantsuit. Her badge had the name ‘Miriam Lavoie.’

“Oh, you mean the one with the new kid?” the man with the plaid tie added. His badge was always missing, but everyone in the office knew to call him Thompson.

“Doesn’t seem like it’s anything good,” said the man in the striped jacket whose ID card read Greg Sanders. “I thought we were succeeding in at least throwing off their weapons trades, weren’t we? Busting the Arcana was the first step in cutting off their supply.”

Koven nodded at his colleagues, “Yes, this is about the New York insider trading case, yes the trades were successfully foiled, and yes, it isn’t good news.” He flipped the slides to show the records of a radio-communication. “Tell me what you think of this.”

Lavoie slid on her glasses and read the transcript. “ _Checked under her hat the other day… there was nothing under hat._ Hm. He’s referring to the MTF-24 fugitive here?”

“Yes,” Koven confirmed, “but what is odd about this?”

“Hadn’t he already told you before that she seems to have military background?” Lavoie offered. “And the pink hair with the hats.”

“Not only that,” Sanders chimed in, “but we’ve actually placed people in the location ever since Mr. Koven spoke with the kid on the phone.”

“The kid’s location was traced?” asked Thompson.

“Yes, and we’ve confirmed that the pink-haired woman is who we think she is.” Sanders said.

Lavoie looked through her notes, “This woman is from the classified NL-9000 project, right? We’ve confirmed she has the devices on her head?”

“Not quite,” Koven said, flipping to a photo of Lucy that Matt had sent him a few weeks ago. “But we were sent pictures of her from the escape and she matches the profile exactly.”

Thompson raised his hand, “But wait, I thought the project was so secretive, that no one knows about these ‘horns’ and what they’re capable of.”

“And yet the kid says there is ‘nothing under the hat,’” Sanders mumbled. “Do you think he actually checked?”

Koven shook his head. “No. I believe that someone in the group told him and, unaware that we have already confirmed it to be Lucy, Matt tried to convince me otherwise.”

“That makes sense, but why would he try to do such a thing?” Lavoie said, mostly to herself. “She’s a dangerous fugitive – what is his motivation to mislead you and falsify information?”

Thompson shrugged, “What if there really _is_ nothing under her hat?”

“Impossible,” said Sanders quickly. “If the horns are destroyed or removed, the subject would expire immediately. If she’s still alive, that means the horns are there.”

“Precisely,” Koven said as he looked to each member of his team. “Therefore, the conclusion I’ve reached is that Matt has been compromised. I believe he was captured by the Manhattan Mafia, and they are forcing him to give me false information under duress.”

“My god!” Lavoie gasped, removing her glasses. “They’re threatening him with death if he reveals the woman’s identity to us!”

Sanders hit his fist on the table, “Monsters. It’s our fault – we sent a kid there without knowing that this horned devil would be there with him.”

“Thus, as you can imagine, priorities have changed significantly,” Koven said as he flipped to a new slide.

“Code green,” Thompson muttered, “so you’re officially categorizing this as a hostage situation?”

“I don’t see how it can be anything else,” Koven said sadly. “For now, I hope, they don’t know that I saw through Matt’s last broadcast. Hopefully they have yet to terminate him.”

“So what’s the plan, sir?” Lavoie asked. “We infiltrate prematurely?”

“But we’ll have no way to tell the kid!” Sanders exclaimed.

“I know, I know,” Koven rubbed his temples, “but we have no choice. We’ll have to infiltrate without Matt’s knowledge.” He took a deep breath, “In 48 hours, we will take down the Manhattan Mafia.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the posting mix-up last week! Here is part 7 in the order that it should have been - hopefully things make more sense now.


	8. Betrayal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Manhattan Mafia gets a surprise visit from CSIS operatives.

**-Unknown time, unknown location-**

Mello awoke to find himself in a white room.

Upon opening his eyes, which he regretted immediately due to the already pounding headache he was developing, he noted that he was surrounded by four pure white walls in a nearly empty and tiny room.

He sat up, wincing from the movement. When he tried to bring his hand to his aching head, he realized that his wrists were tightly bound. He sighed.

The room was about three square meters and held only the bare bed (if you could even call it that) on which he awoke, a chair, and a door.

Mello stood unsteadily from the bed and took a couple steps toward the door. It was sealed shut, obviously. He peered down at himself – he was in a pale grey uniform of some kind and there was a number embroidered on his chest pocket reading 5722.

In the corner of the wall, he spotted a camera. He peered into it, then sat in the chair and waited.

And waited,

And waited,

And waited.

\- - -

From the other side of the camera, watching the feed with professional curiosity, sat a man and a woman.

Miriam Lavoie studied the pair of distant blue eyes, once piercing but now glossed over with a haze of melancholy, that were knowingly staring back at her. She glanced at her colleague, “Are we sure about this, Alex?”

Alex Koven was not looking at her or at the screen, but instead at the floor. “I don’t know. I honestly don’t know. We searched everywhere – Matt was nowhere to be found. And we don’t even know who this is.”

Lavoie adjusted her glasses, “He does seem awfully young, doesn’t he? To be the head of the Manhattan Mafia… That was what he said, wasn’t it?”

“It was,” Koven confirmed, “although he could be bluffing.”

“But in that case, we’ve imprisoned an innocent man under false pretenses,” Lavoie murmured. “We need to question him now that he awoke.”

Koven stood, “Yes. Let’s go.”

\- - -

The sealed door in the white cell slid open sometime later. Mello glanced up to see a man with dark hair and a black suit enter the room, followed shortly by a woman with an auburn bun and pale green blouse. Both looked to be around thirty years old and both had ID badges at their hips.

Mello spotted an unfamiliar logo on their badges – it appeared to be a four-letter acronym under a crest with a crown atop a maple leaf.

 _‘Maple leaf?’_ he wondered, _‘What could Canadians want with me?’_

Mello watched them silently. Neither of them looked armed, which seemed odd to him. The whole thing seemed rather odd, for that matter. He considered running past them, but the door had sealed shut once more.

The man was the first to speak, “State your name and your affiliation with the Manhattan Mafia.”

“I thought Canadians were always supposed to say _please_ ,” Mello said dryly. “I already told your cronies who I was when they came for me.”

“You may want to tone down the attitude,” the woman said in a stern voice. “We just find it hard to believe that a _child_ ,” she put a strong emphasis on that word, “such as yourself is the leader of an organized crime syndicate.”

“I don’t really care what you believe, ma’am.” Mello said, slightly amused. “But I am very curious as to why I am here, in… Canada?”

“Yes, we are curious about some things as well,” said Koven. “For instance, you knew we were coming. And yet, you claim you don’t know what you’re here _for,_ and the reason that you’re in CSIS custody. Doesn’t that strike you as odd, Miriam?”

Lavoie nodded emphatically, “Indeed it does. I wonder why that is.”

Mello stayed silent, opting not to answer the question.

 

**-The Day Before-**

Mello returned to his office, alone, feeling emotionally drained. Matt went back to the Polar Parlor to continue working, and his entire demeanor seemed to have shifted significantly into a cheerful state.

Meanwhile, Mello was plagued by guilt. The burdens which he thought to be mere echoes of years ago suddenly returned, forcing him to re-evaluate the entire situation. Although both guilt-ridden and ecstatic about the timely reunion with Matt, he was also developing lingering suspicions.

Why was Matt, a Wammy’s House graduate, in New York and asking for work in an ice cream shop? It didn’t seem to add up. On top of that, he definitely asked too many questions and offered up nothing about his motives.

Mello sat at his desk, deciding to push those thoughts out of his mind for now. After all, he owed Matt the benefit of the doubt for leaving him at the orphanage all those years ago.

He had no idea Roger destroyed his note, although he should have figured. Having been almost ten years ago, Mello could barely remember what he wrote but he probably begged Matt to run away as well and to join him in America.

The loneliness Matt must have felt in that orphanage likely matched Mello’s own when hit with the realization that his friend would not be joining him.

Mello started up his computer. He was determined to find a place to relocate – he really didn’t grasp how much his office indeed lacked natural sunlight until Matt pointed it out.

He considered looking into Lucy’s complaint about being followed as well, but was distracted by yet another trade deal falling through. This was too much to be a coincidence.

Ever since the Arcana’s bust, weapons traders were dropping like flies. This last one seemed promising – a friend of Mello’s from the United Kingdom who had millions to spare – but he pulled out, just like the others, out of danger of being compromised in the deal.

This wasn’t all, however. Upon returning to the Parlor after his ‘lunch’ with Matt, Elli pulled him aside to say that a health inspector had been snooping around her store.

“He kinda looked like Inspector Gadget, you know, from Go-Go Gadget or whatever?” She had told him earlier, “And the weirdest thing is that he wanted to check the back. I asked him how the employee room was relevant to the cleanliness of the store and he mumbled some response and left.”

Despite Elli’s casual attitude towards the odd health inspector, this raised Mello’s suspicions even higher since the Parlor never had any complaints and passed its annual inspection just under five months ago.

Mello’s conclusion was that there must be interference of some kind. A mole.

Was Amelia just the beginning of some huge conspiracy in his organization? Mello absentmindedly browsed through vacant buildings while pondering this. Of course, the common denominator for all these problems was… Matt.

Matt, who came into the scene out of nowhere and began a strange domino effect of unfortunate events, seemed suspicious.

But, Mello considered, he passed his initiation. On top of that, with the questions, it could just be pure curiosity. Mello of all people knew that Wammy’s kids were raised to ask questions.

And then there was one more tiny detail: the fact that Mello had grown attached to Matt. Thinking of him as a traitor was difficult. The boy that Mello left at the orphanage was not a traitor.

With a final click, Mello found a new location for his office. He decided to put aside the dealer search for now and do some preliminary set up – the building was far from Manhattan, but that wasn’t necessarily a bad thing.

If there was in fact someone following Lucy and if there was some kind of surveillance on the Polar Parlor, then the farther the better. The place he found was in Queens, near Cunningham park, and it was above ground.

Before heading out, he grabbed the Newspaper for a quick scan of stock prices for any big overnight jumps or crashes.

The headline caught his eye.

“Well, shit.” Mello nearly crumpled up the paper in his hands, but stopped himself upon remembering its worth.

“A drugs bust?” His eyes scanned the page, “Nine-month operation?!” He slammed the paper down on his desk. It said that one arrest was made – that of the boss. It was going to be him.

 

\- - -

Matt could hardly focus on scooping ice cream as the events of the day remained fresh in his mind.

He still couldn’t believe that this Mello was the same as the one from his childhood – just as he couldn’t believe that he hadn’t made the connection earlier. The name is pretty uncommon.

Then again, Matt vaguely remembered the time he spent with the orphanage’s specialized ‘therapists,’ who urged him to forget anything that made him sad. He would never forgive Roger for telling him that Mello died.

If things were confusing before, he thought, now they were a goddamn clusterfuck. Already torn between his mission at CSIS and his position in the Manhattan Mafia, the fact that Mello was Mello made everything worse.

Absolutely nothing made sense to Matt anymore. What was he supposed to do? He couldn’t just abandon his mission – he would not only be fired but possibly arrested for his new affiliation with a criminal organization!

But on the other hand, Matt pondered, how could he betray his new team after all this time? Yes, likely a few of them were on the verge of psychotic, but Matt’s state of mind wasn’t exactly the cream of the crop either.

And, after having a void in his heart for nearly ten years, he had finally been reunited with the person he missed so terribly.

“Hey, you okay Mattie?” Elli asked him worriedly. “That’s the third apron you’ve ruined with ice cream today. Got your head in the clouds?”

Matt looked down at his apron, then at her. “Elli… Can I ask your opinion on something?”

Elli brightened, “Sure! Shoot.” She put her scoop aside, listening to him.

“Okay, here goes,” he bit his lip. “An, um, associate of mine has to choose between keeping a job that is really good but detrimental to those he cares about, or losing that job and also risking everything in the process to avoid hurting them. What would be your advice— to my friend?”

“That’s easy, sugar,” Elli smiled, “No job can be worth more than the people your friend cares about. A job is replaceable. People are not.”

Matt smiled back, “…You’re right. I’ll tell him that, thanks!”

Elli patted Matt on the head and went back to work, “Now stop your day dreamin’ and go get a clean apron from the back.”

“Yes ma’am,” he said and went to the employee room.

That was all the answer he needed as he decided that, soon, he will find a way to detach himself from this mission. Yes, he will forget about this dumb case, and he will warn Elli and the others about CSIS. Soon.

Nodding to himself, Matt picked up a fresh apron and made up his mind not to contact his boss today. He will think of a way to get out of it later. For now, he will just focus on enjoying the company of his new friends.

After all, if dreams can’t come true, then why not pretend?

 

\- - -

After re-reading the front page of the paper several times, Mello was certain of two facts.

  1.    There was definitely a mole, but it couldn’t be Matt, and
  2.    He had to get his team out of here ASAP.



The first fact was a stretch, but it made sense to Mello with the following logic: if this drug investigation consisted of a nine-month surveillance operation, then Matt’s addition to the team just a couple months ago did not match up with the timeframe.

He wasn’t sure who else to suspect but for now that didn’t matter because the second point took priority. Once again grateful for the detailed account of the Newspaper, Mello knew that only he would be arrested. This meant that he could send his team to safety.

The new location, although not yet ready, would be the perfect place for this. And of course, so as to not worry them, he would keep the knowledge of the arrest to himself for now. After all, how could he explain knowing about his arrest in advance?

Mello was fully confident that he would either be able to avoid charges or escape at some point after being caught. He had many connections in the legal system, and there was not one judge in USA that could resist a bribe.

Tomorrow morning he would send Matt and the others away to the new building in Queens and await the cops.

He had to admit, it surprised him that his covert drug operation was foiled, but better that than the insider trading. It bothered him a little that the numbers in the paper didn’t quite match his inventory records, but he figured it was a rounding error. He didn’t care much about drugs anyway.

Mello packed up the things in his office for transfer to the new location. He carefully tucked the Newspaper in between boring-looking files and put those files in boxes of hundreds of papers.

He wondered if the NYPD would be able to find him in his office on the fourteenth basement floor. He wasn’t one to test the limits of the paper, but it was worth a shot to see if they can find the lever and elevator.

Sighing, he looked around his empty office. The prospect of being arrested wasn’t very appealing, but if it was for the sake of keeping his team safe, then he would do it.

He certainly didn’t want to lose Matt again, not after all this time.

 

\- - -

At the very same moment, Alex Koven was mapping out the plan of action with his team on a jet that was on its way to LaGuardia airport.

“Alpha team will surround the area,” he said as he traced a circle around the perimeter of the Polar Parlor. “Beta and gamma will infiltrate the building and search for Matt. Delta will look for anyone else in the vicinity.”

“We’re apprehending others?” Sanders asked.

“Locating Matt is our number one priority. But even if we are acting prematurely, it is still our responsibility to use the knowledge we’ve obtained thus fair,” said Koven.

“So we’re looking for NL-9009 as well?” Lavoie glanced at the photo of Lucy on the table. “Are we sure about this?”

“We should try to get the boss too,” Thompson added. “We aren’t exactly going into this with strong evidence – or any at all – about the stock stuff. We need to extract it or else we’ll get backlash.”

“That’s true,” Sanders grumbled, “this is the least amount of information we’ve ever acquired before acting. If management knew… I mean what if this is just an ice cream shop, for god’s sake?”

Koven nodded, “And on that note, the public can’t know about this mission. For one, the NL project fugitive is a huge danger to society and the fact that she’s been free all this time will cause a panic.” He paused. “The lack of evidence is also an issue.”

Thompson raised a brow, “Wait, you’re not implying a cover-up, are you?”

Koven didn’t respond.

“Should I contact my peers in the New York Press?” Lavoie asked casually, picking up a notepad. “They can publish whatever I ask.”

“Wait, wait, hold up!” Thompson stared at her, “You’ve done this before?”

“Done what, dear?” Lavoie inquired with a smile.

Her tone answered Thompson’s question immediately and he decided not to probe further.

Koven rubbed his chin, “We need to consider what the public would find believable. We know enough about the group’s activities to build a story.”

“They deal with drugs, right? We could use that,” said Sanders. “Or weapons. Those two we’re sure of, at least.”

“Drugs will do,” Koven nodded, deep in thought. “I have partners in the state that have been following the drug activity in Manhattan – I’ll get some numbers. Can we get the major papers to cooperate, Miriam?”

“Without a problem,” she replied. “So, a drug raid then? Seems reasonable. What about the horned woman?”

Koven lowered his voice, “Absolutely _no_ mention of her. No mention of insider trading, no mention of a missing Canadian agent, and no mention of any traces of CSIS.”

Lavoie jotted down the information, “Got it.”

The jet began its descent to New York state.

 

**-The Following Morning-**

From the information given in the article, Mello wasn’t entirely sure when the drug bust would happen. He knew that it must be after 8am, the first publishing of the day’s news, and before the afternoon release at 2pm.

Staying on the side of safety, he decided to send his team away to the new location early in the morning and wait the rest of the day for the cops alone.

“Whaaaa?” Mike exclaimed, “We’re movin’ out so soon?”

“I just want you guys to get a feel for the place as soon as possible,” Mello said, giving Mike a box of files, which, incidentally, held the Newspaper.

“Y’know, I’ve been thinking,” Elli said as she went around to Mello’s side, “What if I open another Polar Parlor location? At the new place?”

“What do you mean?” he asked.

“I could start a franchise!” she grinned, “And hire actual employees! Oh um, no offense, Matt. You know what I mean.”

Matt frowned, “I said I was sorry about the aprons yesterday…”

“I could really make the brand known,” Elli continued, “get, like, other managers and stuff. I would manage the budget, of course.”

“Isn’t a recognizable brand something we’re tryin’ to avoid?” Nick asked, stacking some boxes on top of others. “Gotta be inconspicuous and whatnot.”

“That’s boring,” she dismissed him with a wave of her hand. “If Polar Parlor is famous, no one would even suspect it! It’ll become the new Starbucks!”

Mello chuckled, “I think you’re getting a little carried away. Let’s start by moving to the new place and then we’ll think about opening new locations.”

“Booo. Fine,” Elli grumbled and dejectedly continued packing things up.

Mike wandered over to Lucy, who was shoving identical grey dresses and green hats into a backpack from her locker.

“Everythin’ okay, Lucy?” he asked. “You look a bit down. I mean, you always look sorta down, but today you look gloomier than usual.”

Lucy glanced at him, keeping her voice quiet. “…do you feel that something is off?”

“Huh?” Mike blinked. “Off? Whatcha mean?”

“I cannot explain it,” she said, closing her locker. “I have a bad feeling.”

Mike grinned, “I know changin’ places can be pretty hectic! You don’t need ta’ worry, we’re all here with you. Heck, I bet Queens it even nicer than Manhattan!”

Lucy couldn’t help but smile, although very slightly. “…Maybe you’re right.”

Outside, Mello was arranging boxes into the car. He was putting a strong conscious effort into keeping an ordinary composure while constantly looking around for any sign of police cars.

“Hey!” Matt snuck up behind him, “How far is the new place from here?”

Mello nearly jumped, turning around to face the redhead. “How… far? About forty minutes, give and take. Why?”

“Maybe I should move somewhere closer,” Matt said. “This apartment was perfect ‘cause it’s across the street, but now it’s useless.”

“Well,” Mello smirked, “you could always move in with me.”

“Really?” Matt brightened. “I could? That would be fun!”

“…Yes… _fun,_ ” Mello said under his breath as the rest of his team made their way outside to the car.

“That’s the last of it, chief.” Nick closed the trunk. “Should we head out?”

“I call shotgun!” Elli jumped in the passenger seat, shutting the door.

“Damn it, every time!” Mike grumbled, getting into the back seat with Lucy. Matt squeezed in beside them.

Mello turned to Nick, pretending to remember something. “Ah shit, I totally forgot. I have to get something to a client real quick, can you drive to the new place? I’ll send you the location.”

“Sure, but what about you?” asked Nick.

“I’ll join you guys soon,” he lied. “Don’t worry.”

“Alright, if you say so,” Nick climbed into the driver’s seat and in a few moments the car sped off into the distance.

Mello breathed a sigh of relief. He now had well over an hour before his team would become suspicious of his absence and at least two before they might try to return. He quickly texted Nick the address of the new building, knowing that it would be promptly deleted.

He went back into the Parlor and took a final look around. He knew that there was no way they could return to this place. Even if he didn’t wait for the cops in the basement, the building would still be seized and searched.

 _‘I am truly sorry, Elli.’_ He thought, running a hand along the frosted countertops. _‘I’ll make you a new Parlor.’_

All that was left was to wait. As he was about the go in the back, the bells of the front door jingled. He turned, ready to put his hands in the air, but didn’t. “…Luce? What the hell are you doing here?”

Lucy walked inside slowly, “I forgot my bag. Got off at Main; took a cab.”

“You need to get out of here,” Mello said urgently. “I can’t explain right now, but you need to _go._ ”

“…Why?” She studied his expression with cautious curiosity. “Is something bad happening?”

“Lucy, please,” Mello knew she would be safe because the paper mentioned only the arrest of the leader, but he didn’t want to take any chances. “You need to go, now. I’ll explain everything later. Forget about the bag. And tell the others not to come back here for any reason.”

Lucy narrowed her eyes. “…Fine.” She turned on her heel, then added, “Fine, but only because I trust you.”

When he was certain Lucy left, Mello went to the back and descended to the 14th basement floor. It was a close call and he was relieved to be alone again. He went into his empty office, keeping the door open, and sat down at this desk for a final time.

And waited.

 

\- - -

Four unmarked vehicles surrounded the Polar Parlor. Men and women in dark uniforms cordoned off the area with police tape, keeping civilians several meters away from the building.

Exiting a black car, Alex Koven made his way into the ice cream shop. Miriam Lavoie was at his side, with Greg Sanders and Thompson following closely behind them.

“There’s… no one here,” Sanders said after a while.

“Yeah, no shit,” Thompson checked behind the counter and in the back room. “They knew we were coming!”

“How is that possible?” Lavoie whispered, “How could they know?”

“Let’s not give up hope yet,” Koven said sternly. “Remember, we need to find Matt.” He held a radio to his mouth and spoke into it; “Delta team, spread out and search the area. Stop every car and taxi. If you find anyone from the Manhattan Mafia, apprehend them immediately.”

“This can’t be it though, right?” Sanders asked, looking around the Parlor. “They obviously don’t operate out of a goddamn ice cream store.”

“Right,” Lavoie nodded, “we should search the place more thoroughly.”

Koven followed her into the staff room as they began to investigate. The room was now mostly empty, save for a few empty boxes and some store inventory.

“Alex, look here.” Lavoie was pointing at a shelf against the wall, “Don’t you think there’s a little too much stuff here considering the rest of the place is almost spotless?”

Koven went over to the shelf. “What are these? Cards?” He reached up to pull them out and the back wall started to rumble.

“Well, I’ll be damned…” Lavoie muttered, “A goddamn hidden elevator.”

Without hesitation, Koven pressed the now-apparent call button. “Let’s go.”

Lavoie followed him into the elevator. “Fifteen floors. We’ll need backup.”

Within ten minutes, the Beta and Gamma teams spread through the fifteen underground floors of the building like a virus.

It was by chance that Thompson and Sanders ended up on the fourteenth. They stalked the hall, guns ready in their hands.

“I don’t like this one bit,” Thompson grumbled. “First we screw up by putting the new kid on a mission we didn’t think anyone would be able to do, and then we lose him. Now we’re in this place, which is empty, as if they knew we were coming. What if it’s a trap?”

“You should shut _your_ trap,” Sanders snapped. “Look, you don’t think I’m freaked out by this too? Let’s just search the floor and get out. I doubt there’s anything on this one either. None of the other guys found anything.”

“Yes, but it’s the fourteenth floor,” Thompson added.

“…So what?”

“So, the _thirteenth_ floor wasn’t marked on the buttons. That means _this_ is the thirteenth floor!”

Sanders had to physically stop to look at Thompson. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

“It’s bad luck!” Thompson said, “Don’t you know about—oh shit. Look, that door is open.”

Sanders turned to the direction in which his partner was pointing. Indeed, there was a single door at the end of the hall. A metallic heavy door that was open, and beckoning them to enter.

The two of them glanced at each other. Thompson gulped.

“Come on,” Sanders whispered. “It’s now or never.”

With a few swift steps, the men were in the doorway, guns pointed at the single figure that sat at the empty desk.

“Put your hands where I can see them,” Sanders demanded. “Who are you?”

Mello stood calmly, “No need for guns; I’ll cooperate fully.”

“Greg,” Thompson whispered, “I think this guy is the boss.”

 

**-Present Day-**

There weren’t many times in Mello’s life when he was confused. Now was one of those rare moments. He didn’t quite like it. That, along with the bright walls of the white room, was just adding onto his headache.

The paper had clearly said that the NYPD apprehended one person from the Manhattan Mafia during a drug raid. And yet, the man and woman standing before him were certainly not New York cops.

Was the paper mistaken? Was there a change of plans that it couldn’t capture in time? It had never failed him before.

As he pondered this, he realized that the dark-haired man was speaking.

“How did you know we were coming?” he asked.

Mello really wasn’t sure how to answer. “…I didn’t.”

“But the place was cleared,” the woman said. “It seemed as if you were expecting us.”

“I wasn’t exactly expecting _you_ ,” Mello replied.

Koven’s foot was tapping the floor in irritation, “Alright, this isn’t going anywhere. Listen, you can save yourself a lot of trouble if you just tell us where he is.”

Again, the confusion. “Where _who_ is?”

Miriam rolled her eyes, “Don’t play dumb with us.”

“I assure you, I’m not playing at anything.” Mello said, his frustration growing. “I don’t even know why I’m here or what you want with me. Who the hell are you looking for?”

Koven looked as if he was ready to burst. “ _Matt._ Where is **_Matt._** ”

“…What?” Mello glanced up at the man. “Why would you…” _there was a mole in the organization_ “…be looking for…” _someone who had joined recently_ “…Matt?” _no…_

The walls of the small white room seemed to close in on him, knocking the air out of his lungs. He felt like he was drowning. Matt had betrayed him.

Lavoie lightly nudged Koven in the arm, whispering; “Look at him. I… I don’t think he knew what Matt was.”

Koven watched as the blond young man in front of him appeared to recede into some kind of shell. He looked unresponsive.

“Hm,” Koven’s brows knitted together. “That would appear to be the case. This is certainly unprecedented.”

“Yes,” Lavoie nodded, “then what of Matt’s strange communications about the pink-haired woman? And where has he gone?”

Koven half-shrugged, “At least now we know he was not in immediate danger. Perhaps the fugitive herself will give us the answer.”

Mello’s head shot up in an instant, “ ** _What?_** You have _Lucy?”_

“Oh, did that bring you back to reality, dear?” Lavoie adjusted her glasses. “This must be a lot for you to take in.”

Hope was slowly being drained from Mello, as was the colour in his face. “Please,” he said, “can you just tell me what’s going on?”

Lavoie glanced at her partner. “I suppose there’s no harm in telling him now.” At Koven’s nod, she went on, “You’re in the custody of the Canadian Security Intelligence Service. Matt is a junior special agent of ours. He was sent to New York to work on your case.”

Mello’s head was spinning, “So everything… was a lie then?” He looked up at her, “What are you planning on doing to me? To Lucy?!”

Koven silently turned to the door, giving Lavoie a knowing tap on her shoulder.

“That’s classified,” she said. They left the room.

The door sealed with a mocking click.

Mello’s mind swirled with a carousel of pain. Lucy was captured. Matt had betrayed him. Matt was an agent. Matt was a traitor.

Mello was left alone in the blinding white cell once more. But he was more than alone. In fact, he had only felt this alone one other time in his life.

 

**-February 1993, St. Petersburg, New Russian Federation-**

The harsh winds of winter flurried through the streets, picking up garbage and crumpled papers, tossing them in snow banks that lined the avenues.

_Ding—_

Two children ran hand-in-hand down the empty streets as a faraway bell began to toll into the darkness.

_ding—_

They were already late because they had a harder time getting food today.

_ding—_

The pair was a boy and a girl. The boy ran slightly ahead, pulling her along.

_ding—_

Under the milk light of the full moon, the two figures scurried past a crumbling statue of a now bygone leader.

_ding—_

A poster flew by, its words still legible: религия опиум народа.

_ding—_

‘Religion is the opium of the people.’

_ding—_

The kids could see their home vaguely in the distance.

_ding—_

‘The Church of St. Catherine,’ it was called. One of two remaining Catholic churches in the land since the purge.

_ding—_

As they neared the large stone walls, they could see that they were ablaze.

ding.

At the tenth toll of the bell, the boy and girl stopped in front of the church.

The girl, in an oversized parka and ripped mittens, dropped the bag she was holding onto so tightly with her free hand. Light brown hair peaked out in braids underneath her hood. Her name was Annastasiya Keehl.

Tears filled her azure eyes. “What’s happening, Misha? Where is papa?”

The boy put an arm around her, moving them both away from the flames. He wore a tattered coat which barely blocked the wind that was now blowing yellow hair into his tired brown eyes. His name was Mihael.

“I’m sure he’s fine, Anya!” He shouted over the howling of the wind. He picked up the bag that his sister dropped and took her hand again. “Let’s go look for them.”

“I’m scared,” Anya whispered, “have they come for papa?”

The boy bit his lip. He certainly hoped not.

The two children came from a family of faithful Catholics. It was a long and pure bloodline, tracing back to the sixteenth century.

However, with the rise of communism at the beginning of the century, many such bloodlines were lost. Religion being the opiate of the people was just a scratch on the tip of the iceberg.

Under Soviet rule, religious beliefs of all kinds were suppressed and practicing was punishable by death. In the 1920s and 30s, atheism was actively taught in schools and anti-religious propaganda flooded the streets.

This continued through the decades, and Catholicism saw the worst of it. As recognition of religion slowly seeped back into the country, it was the Orthodox Church that allied with the nation’s power. Catholicism was not acknowledged as a legitimate religion in the post USSR federation.

During the 70 years of the Soviet era many Catholics lost their lives or were persecuted for their faith. Misha and Anya’s family continued to practice their faith underground to avoid persecution.

One such tragedy struck the kids’ mother, who was sent to a labour camp a year ago and perished shortly after. Anya did not remember her well, while her brother kept a memento of hers– a black and red rosary – around his neck at all times.

Going around to the back, the kids spotted a few people standing in the snow beside the church wall.

“Papa!” Anya cried, letting go of her brother’s hand and running towards the figure in a black robe who was speaking to two unfamiliar men.

“Anya, wait!” Misha ran after her, getting a bad feeling about the sight in front of him.

As the girl hugged her father’s leg, he turned to face them. The flames illuminated his face ominously. His eyes were sunken and his face was unshaved – he held a hand out to beckon his son to approach.

Misha looked instead at the two strangers that were standing across from his father. They looked rich and threatening. One of them wore a lab coat.

The kids’ father picked up Anya, holding her close. “Anya, Misha, I want you to meet your papa’s comrades. This is Mister Slepakov and Doctor Ilyavich.”

Anya smiled and waved, “Hello comrades!” The two men eyed her in a way that made Misha increasingly uncomfortable.

“What is going on here?” Smart for his age, the boy knew that something wasn’t right. The look upon his father’s face confirmed his suspicions.

Their father feebly attempted a smile. “These kind gentlemen offered to help pay our taxes and keep the state police away for a while,” he said. “They will also be, uh,” he fumbled for words, “looking after you for a while.”

“What?!” Misha immediately understood the situation and, dropping the bags, ran to his father and kicked him in the shin. “You’re _selling_ us?!”

At the kick, Anya fell from her father’s arms and Misha caught her instinctively, taking a few steps back.

“It-it’s not like that!” Their father bent over in pain, stumbling backwards. “I… have no choice, Mihael.”

Anya once against threatened to cry, “Papa? What is happening?”

The man who Misha once called his father looked up at his kids and said, “Forgive me.”

This was the last thing they remembered before blacking out.

The next time Misha awoke, it was in a laboratory. Unbeknownst to him, he was no longer in Russia but in a secret facility in Estonia – a post-Soviet state. His sister was there as well.

The men he had met previously brought them to this place. One was a sponsor and the other a doctor. Although the kids would never learn the true name of this facility, its purposes were simple: data collection from human experimentation.

In the era following the Second World War, incredible findings were exhumed from the files of famous human experimentation projects – such as those of Josef Mengele and Japan’s Unit 731. Unfortunately, it didn’t stop after the war ended.

There were at least 3,000 other men, women and children at this facility. They were either prisoners of war, homeless vagrants, or just unfortunate victims of circumstance.

The unfortunate circumstances surrounding Misha and Anya were that their father was desperate and that the facility had a preference for twins.

By being twins, however, the siblings were able to avoid the fatal atrocities that they would only hear about from surrounding prisoners. Vivisections, biological weapons testing, experimental amputation, forced starvation…

The screams of dying victims haunted their sleep.

Among their neighbours, the siblings were considered lucky. Twins were given preferential treatment. They received some extra food, some extra time outside.

But that changed when the two of them were chosen for an experiment.

The doctors would constantly marvel at the differences in the kids’ genetic traits. Anya, although blessed with piercing blue eyes, had brown hair. And her brother, while a natural blond, had eyes the colour of chocolate.

Blue eyes and blond hair were considered superior – a trait passed through pure Aryan bloodlines – and preferred by the facility’s sponsors.

The experiment attempted to switch the siblings’ eye colours.

And although it was hailed a success, there was only one survivor.

After months in recovery, Misha was able to see again. Doctor Ilyavich was granted a promotion for his exceptional work and the successful experiment.

Misha was now entirely alone.

He spent dozens of sleepless nights plotting his escape. Hearing of his plight and the loss of his only remaining family, the other prisoners banded together to help him.

Finally, under the cover of night, half a year after being locked away, Misha made his escape.

Being completely unfamiliar with Estonia, and the barren fields in which the facility was hidden, he wandered for days. At last reaching a small city, the boy collapsed just outside an inn from hunger and exhaustion.

The innkeeper, a kind Estonian woman, took Misha in and nursed him back to health. The speed of which he learned her language astonished her, and she quickly realized the potential behind his intelligence.

She made a few calls to colleagues of hers and soon after Misha was once again shipped off to an unknown land.

There, he was given a room and a bed and food and clothes. And there, he lost the one thing he had left: his name.

 

**-Present Day, Queens, NY-**

On the main floor of the new building in Queens, Matt paced the room. Mello hadn’t joined them yet and neither had Lucy, who claimed she was just getting a bag she forgot at the Parlor.

Elli was waiting anxiously by the window, continuously checking her cell phone. Mike was outside, running to every cab that stopped on the side of the street. Nick was sitting on the floor, chewing on a toothpick.

Matt had a bad feeling in the pit of his stomach. This seemed all too familiar to the mission that initiated him: Mello knew something that the rest of them didn’t.

He decided to go to the back room with his backpack, and check his computer. Something compelled him to open the radio frequency.

As soon as saw the chat screen, his face went pale.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the delay - work got a little hectic! Hope you enjoy and thank you for kudoses and comments :)


	9. A Trade

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mello is in CSIS custody and has to face some more disheartening news. Meanwhile, Matt has to come to terms with what happened - and decide what to do next.

**-Present Day, Toronto, 8:14pm-**

“I feel like we’re missing something important here.”

“Check. I have a similar feeling.”

“There are just too many things that don’t add up, you know? For example, the inconsistencies of their knowledge.”

“Inconsistencies?”

“Yeah. He knew we were coming but didn’t know who we were. He cleared the place knowing there was a leak but didn’t know Matt was undercover.”

“Ah. I see what you’re saying. Check.”

“And we still don’t know where Matt is!”

“Do you suppose our prisoners know?”

“Probably, but I doubt either of them would tell us.”

“Checkmate. You’re really losing your focus, Alex.”

“Damn it, Miriam!” Alex Koven stood from his chair, grabbing a coffee mug. “How do you always do that?”

Miriam Lavoie hummed triumphantly as she collected the chess pieces and folded up the checkered board. “Another round tomorrow?”

“No thanks,” Koven said bitterly and poured himself another cup of coffee.

“You can’t expect to win if you keep getting riled up like this,” Lavoie replied.

“I think there are more pressing tasks at hand than a game of chess, don’t you agree?”

“Au contraire,” Lavoie smiled, “chess is a game of strategy and thought. If you can focus your efforts on predicting your opponent’s moves, you gain the upper hand. Win the game, solve the case.”

“Right,” he grumbled, “so then by being such a pro at chess, surely you have an idea?”

“Oh yes,” she smirked. “I suggest that we _propose a trade_.”

“A trade?” Koven repeated doubtfully, “What could we possibly trade? Not to mention that a trade of any kind would be against the ethics’ standards and entirely unprofessional—”

“And there’s another reason you keep losing to me, dear.” Lavoie adjusted her glasses to the bridge of her nose, “You can’t think outside the box.”

“The box exists for a _reason_ , Miriam.”

She sighed, “Look, do you want to hear my idea or not?”

“Fine,” he said. “I’m listening.”

“First of all, you have to abandon this sense of ethical professionalism, because we’re far beyond the point of no return,” she began. “Without even a sliver of evidence, we intervened and made arrests.”

“We had some evidence! There were Matt’s communications…”

“I’m still speaking.” Lavoie continued, “Without a _reasonable_ collection of evidence, we decided to act. Now, we still don’t know how the insider trading is done _and_ we’ve yet to find our missing agent. You would agree then that we are, as they say, in deep shit right now, correct?”

Koven hesitated, “…I suppose.”

“So then here’s my plan,” she said. “The blondie seems to care a great deal for the NL subject, right? He’s afraid of what we might do to her. Little does he know, we have no jurisdiction over the matter, but whatever. We’re supposed to ship her back to the facility she came from so they can dispose of her, but what if we could _not_ do that?”

“I’m not sure I’m following,” Koven eyed her suspiciously.

“We offer him the following deal: tell us where Matt is, or else we ship the pink-haired woman away to the American government,” Lavoie concluded.

“Uh huh. And if he does tell us where Matt is?”

“Then we set her free.”

“ _What?”_ Koven gaped at her, “Are you nuts? She’s extremely dangerous!”

Lavoie shrugged, “If she hasn’t been noticed all these years, that means she’s avoided massacring any more people. Maybe she rehabilitated.”

“Yeah, _or_ the mafia has been using her as an assassin!” Koven rubbed his forehead, “I can’t believe you of all people are proposing this.”

“Oh come on, Alex!” She stood from the table, “We covered up the entire incident. No one knows we have her. If we do get Matt’s location from the trade, we’ll fetch the boy before releasing her. Admit it, it’s brilliant!”

There was a short moment of silence as Koven stared at his partner in disbelief. “…You think this will work?”

“There’s only one way to find out,” said Lavoie.

\- - -

Alone in his cell, Mello paced the length of the small enclosure endlessly, tormented by his thoughts.

His previous confusion had boiled over into anger, then despair, then back to confusion, as he tried to figure out where things went wrong.

First there was the matter of the Newspaper’s error. How was that possible? He had been so careful in testing every single aspect of its fortune telling properties and it had never failed him…

Unless, it wasn’t the paper’s fault at all.

Mello mentally profiled the man and woman he met in this facility and the men that apprehended him back in New York. They were definitely not police, he knew that immediately. Now he knew that they were Canadian intelligence agents.

So if the paper mentioned nothing of these people, then…

 _‘Could it be a cover-up?’_ he pondered. It was possible. He thought back to the drug numbers mentioned in the article and then to his own inventory records, stored snuggly in his memory.

Now that he thought about it, the imbalance was very suspicious. That, along with the fact that the article made no mention of Lucy’s capture, convinced Mello that a cover up was exactly what happened.

_‘But why?’_

Panic struck him for a second when he considered that these people knew about the Newspaper.

But, that anxiety quickly receded when he recalled their confusion at the emptiness of his base and at the calmness with which we awaited their arrival.

So there must be another reason.

 _‘They know about the insider trading,’_ he thought, _‘but they don’t know how I do it. Why would they ask the press to cover up my arrest?’_

Almost immediately, he knew the answer. It was _because_ they didn’t know how the trading happened.

Mello felt a tinge of self-satisfaction. The agents that captured him had no evidence. Not only that, but they were so cautious about this lack of evidence that the entire ‘raid’ had to be kept secret.

Lucy fit into that equation perfectly: she was hidden from the public as well to avoid a panic.

And lastly, there was the matter of their missing agent…

_‘Matt.’_

Mello frowned and stopped pacing. Since he learned of Matt’s betrayal, his subconscious has been inadvertently denying it. But it couldn’t be avoided now.

Matt had betrayed him. And worst of all, this meant that all of his suspicions were correct after all.

Matt wasn’t asking questions because he was curious; it was because he was investigating. He didn’t pass the initiation because he wanted to be part of the team, but rather to be a spy.

Everything, absolutely everything, had the underlying intentions of exposing the secrets of Mello’s team. He was angry because he _should have known._

From his arrival onwards, the boy was suspicious. But Mello chose to ignore it. And after finding out his connection to the Wammy’s house, his suspicions should have shot through the roof!

Mello knew that upon ‘graduating,’ all Wammy alumni are placed in respectable investigative occupations. He had heard of kids going on to join the CIA, Interpol, the FBI…

And now CSIS. How obvious!

Why would someone like Matt ever need to get a job at a goddamn ice cream parlor? Why would someone like him ever consider becoming part of a crime syndicate?

Mello sat on the chair, placing his head in his hands. This situation was so much worse than he could’ve anticipated. Somewhere in the building, he knew that Lucy was alone and scared. And it was his fault.

 _His_ fault?

No, it was _Matt’s_ fault.

Definitely Matt’s fault.

…Wasn’t it?

Unless…

Mello’s heart began to ache as he considered the possibility of Matt acting of out revenge. Could he have held a grudge for all those years?

It was a possibility. It was entirely possible that Matt hadn’t forgotten and hadn’t forgiven Mello for leaving him.

Although his reaction in the park did seem genuine… but, then again, so did everything else. The night that Matt spent carefully applying bandages to Mello’s burns. The hours spent agonizing over the placement of the fish in the aquarium. The times they shared together. The kiss.

It all seemed genuine, but of course now Mello knew it couldn’t have been. Right? No part of it was genuine – it was all a ruse.

 _‘God,’_ he thought, _‘I’m such a fucking idiot.’_  

 

**-Same time, Queens, New York-**

“God!” Elli exclaimed, “I’m such a fucking idiot!”

In the background, the newscaster on the TV continued to speak.

“…Officer Tate is telling us that the suspect has been placed under arrest and will be awaiting a bail hearing. The ice cream shop has been temporarily repossessed by the state. The war on drugs in New York is a continuous battle, and we urge citizens to—”

Elli slammed the mute button on the remote, nearly breaking it in the process. “It’s not like this _hasn’t happened before,_ ” she seethed, “he ALWAYS does this!”

“Maybe it’s not like that,” Mike said meekly, “maybe he didn’t know.”

“Oh no, no no no, he knew.” Elli threw the remote down to the floor, “He knew, just like he knew about the Ross explosion and just like he knew all those stock crashes. Why, for _once_ , couldn’t he let us in on it?! Why does he do everything alone, for god’s sake?”

“Somethin’s weird about the numbers, though,” Nick mumbled to himself.

Mike watched the muted reporter on the television. “But, maybe it’s a trick of some kind. He’ll be back soon! He was okay after the blast, after all.”

“This doesn’t seem like something you can just poof out of, Mike.” Elli said, “This is serious! And we could’ve helped!”

“The numbers are all wrong, guys,” Nick said again. “Somethin’s weird.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” she asked.

Nick furrowed his brows, “We… aren’t missing any of our supply.” He was looking through rows of data on his phone, “How could they be talkin’ about seizing our drug supply when none of it is missing?”

Both Mike and Elli turned to him quizzically.

“That’s… weird,” Mike said. He looked to the door, “That, and the fact that Lucy didn’t come back yet. D’you think she got lost? She can’t be in any trouble, right?”

Elli groaned, “This is too much to deal with right now! What is going on?”

From the next room over, Matt could hear their conversation loud and clear.

He knew why the drug numbers didn’t match their supply. He knew why Lucy hadn’t shown up yet. He knew because he was still staring at the little grey words on the screen in front of him.

**we have apprehended the fugitive woman**

**we have apprehended the boss**

His stomach churned. With a shaky hand, he closed the laptop and set it aside. He tried to steady his breathing.

While the three loyal members of Mello’s team argued in the main room, Matt was alone in the temporary storage room, surrounded by various furniture and stacks of boxes from the previous location.

He was thankful that he was alone. It gave him some time to think.

_‘We have apprehended the fugitive woman.’_

CSIS had Lucy.

_‘We have apprehended the boss.’_

They also had Mello.

The drug story on the news must have been a cover-up. He had seen CSIS do it once before, when he was first hired. It didn’t surprise him.

What did surprise Matt was that his boss acted so soon, and without informing him. Why did they infiltrate? Was it a surprise tactic? Did they not trust Matt?

The latter didn’t appear to be the case, since, from the most recent communication, his boss was worried about his safety.

At least, for the moment, Matt wasn’t suspected by CSIS as being a rogue agent. He also, thankfully, wasn’t suspected by the people currently in the other room of being a spy.

Matt was Schrodinger’s traitor.

Was that the right term? He scoffed at the thought and tried to gather his wits. This was a difficult task, considering the situation.

Matt had a couple of options.

He could report back to CSIS, let them know he was safe, and that… what? He completed his mission? Technically not, since the insider trading was still beyond him, but he could just return to work and everything would go back to normal.

Right? It _was_ an option. He could’ve just been really effective at being undercover. He did single-handedly lead to the arrest of a highly sought-after criminal and a runaway military fugitive.

He might even get a promotion. But… he couldn’t abandon Mello and Lucy.

From the other room, the voices of his (ex?)teammates drifted through the walls. He considered his second option: confessing.

He could, theoretically, just waltz in there and come clean about everything. There were a few things that could happen after that: they might kill him, they might not believe him, or they might understand and then work together to find a way out of this mess.

On the bright side, Matt thought, the two most intimidating members of the team were currently imprisoned. He then frowned from thinking that.

Without a doubt, it was his fault that this happened! He wondered why CSIS acted without telling him, but it was irrelevant now.

The simplest option would be to run. He could break contact with both the Manhattan Mafia and CSIS and disappear into obscurity without a trace.

But where would he go?

Other than his job and the people he met on this mission, Matt had no one. He was too old to return to the Wammy’s House – they’d have no use for him now. And he didn’t have a family.

 _‘If only I hadn’t taken this job,’_ Matt thought bitterly.

If only he had been able to resist a challenge.

He thought back to the series of events that ended up with him in Canada…

 

**-Two Years Ago, Winchester, England-**

“Well Matt, it would appear that you meet the criteria to graduate early,” Roger said, reading over a piece of paper. “Quite impressive, my boy!”

Matt was sitting in a chair across from Roger’s laminate desk, looking out the window absentmindedly. “Thanks, I guess.”

He had been called into the office to discuss his future, and he hoped the meeting would end soon because he had a video game paused in the middle of a boss battle.

Roger took off his glasses. “You know, not many get a head start as great as yours. Mr. Wammy and I have been considering your options for a career – is there anything that you would prefer?”

“I dunno,” Matt mumbled, “somewhere I can work alone, prob’ly.”

“Well actually, we have also been discussing the issue of your social interaction. Nobody wants to work with a withdrawn colleague,” Roger said, almost accusingly. “You behavior is a bit worrying. Why don’t you interact with others? You haven’t got many friends.”

Matt blinked. “I dunno,” he said again, “abandonment issues? Who knows. I just don’t like other people. I prefer virtual people.”

Roger sighed, “It just won’t do – you’re going to have to learn to communicate. If you’ve got no objections or preferences, Mr. Wammy and I think that it would be best for you to broaden your horizons and go to a different country. We’ve got contacts in ASIO.”

“ASIO?” Matt shook his head, “The Australian intel? No thanks. I hate the heat. And I hate bugs.”

“This is a good organization,” Roger said. “They’ve offered to take on your training despite your young age and—”

“I don’t want to live in Australia,” Matt said definitively. “Place me somewhere else.”

Roger rubbed his temples, “Nowhere else will accept a fourteen year old intern. You’d need to get in yourself.”

“Fine,” Matt got off the chair, “I will.”

The redhead walked back to his room and began job hunting. After he beat the boss level of the paused game, of course.

It was standard practice for Wammy graduates to work in some kind of investigative services. The better your grades, the higher you go. A secret intelligence organization was the optimal destination, and Matt wasn’t going to settle for anything else.

Just not in Australia.

He spoke to a few places that seemed somewhat willing, considering his education. Organizations in Dublin, Wales, Dover, even New Zealand, spoke kindly to him about their positions.

It wasn’t until he called the 6-1-3 Ottawa area code that his interest was piqued. A woman answered the phone.

“So your name is Matt,” she said hesitantly, “Matt what?”

“Just Matt.”

“How old did you say you were, dear?” she asked.

“Fourteen,” Matt said. “But I’m smart for my age.”

“You’re fourteen,” she repeated slowly. “And you think you’re qualified for a job? Here?”

Matt nodded but then realized she couldn’t see him. “Yes, I think so ma’am.”

“I’m sorry dear,” she said with a slight snicker, “I don’t think we can do that. We only hire those with experience in intelligence collection and research. And generally our employees are well over fourteen years old.”

Matt was quite used to getting underestimated, but it still irked him to be condescended. “I can prove to you that I can be a useful asset. I’m good with computers – fluent in programming codes and I’m familiar with—”

“Good with computers? That’s nice, dear,” the woman’s smile could be heard through her words. “My baby nephew is good with computers too; you should see how far he can get in Tetris!”

“Um… Tetris?” Matt repeated bitterly.

“Oh yes, it’s quite a riot. Anyway, it was nice talking to you dear, but I’ve got _actual_ work to attend to,” she said in a hurry. “Good luck! Maybe try a paperboy career, hm?” With that, she hung up.

Matt gritted his teeth and put the phone down.

Despite the rudeness with which he was treated, Matt was now completely set on proving his worth to these people. To rise against their disbelief and to prove himself became his mission.

He felt that if he achieved this goal, it would make someone proud. He wasn’t exactly sure who… Definitely it was not L – Matt didn’t see that as an option. But it was for someone.

He would accomplish this feat – in the only way he knew how.

 

**-Also Two Years Ago, Ottawa, Canada-**

In Alex Koven’s office, a few members of his team were gathered around a laptop. Koven had only recently been promoted to senior manager, and was taking steps towards making some changes to improve the company’s public relations and website.

Greg Sanders opened up the CSIS site. “So we discussed adding more info for the general public, right? Well I think you might approve of something like this.” He scrolled through new pages on the site.

Miriam Lavoie peered at the screen. “Are you sure everyday users would benefit from this information? The terms are very specific.”

Sanders shrugged, “They don’t really need to understand. But studies show that people feel better if extra information is given to them – makes them feel like the company isn’t hiding anything.”

“Oh, I see you added a tab about cybersecurity,” Thompson said. “It’s about time! People are so concerned with hackers and whatnot these days.”

“Can we see that tab, Greg?” Koven asked.

“Sure, sure,” Sanders clicked on it, “here it is!”

The screen redirected to a page of information.

 

 “This is definitely a lot of information,” Koven said. “You don’t think it’s too clumpy? Maybe we could break apart the paragraphs.”

“Maybe, but—” Sanders leaned in towards the screen, “what is that?”

“What is what?” Lavoie asked.

Sanders hesitated, “There’s something on the banner that I didn’t put.”

“I see it too,” said Thompson, “At the top. Something pink and yellow and—”

“What the hell?” Sanders rubbed his eyes, “What is that?”

Thompson laughed, “That’s so cool, Greg! Givin’ an example of hacking!”

Koven and Lavoie looked to each other. “I don’t think this is Greg’s doing,” Koven said. “Is it?”

Sanders shook his head and pressed OK. The shapes started to move.

“What the fuck,” Sanders mumbled, “what the hell is that?”

“Maybe it’s some kind of website glitch?” said Koven. “Are the proxies secured as usual?”

Sanders was staring at the screen, “Uh… The thing is sir, this page hasn’t been published yet.”

“What does that mean?” Thompson asked, glancing at the page.

“It isn’t live,” said Sanders. “It isn’t on the site. This page only exists on our internal database!”

“Well exit out of it, Greg!” Lavoie said hurriedly. “It’s unnerving.”

“Are those tetrominoes?” Koven asked. “I don’t understand.”

“It… It isn’t letting me exit,” Sanders muttered. “How is this possible?”

“Keep trying!” Lavoie took the mouse, “It can’t stay open forever.”

“This is ridiculous,” said Koven, “why the hell are Tetris shapes taking over your web page, Greg?! How did someone get into our system?”

“I-I don’t know, sir!” Sanders was pressing multiple buttons on the keyboard, “I don’t even understand how an intranet can be hacked!”

“Wait…” Lavoie said quietly, “Tetris pieces…?”

“Holy shit,” said Thompson, “this is the coolest thing I’ve ever seen.”

“It isn’t cool!” Sanders was pounding on the keys. “I can’t even control-alt-delete anything!”

“ _Tetris pieces_ ,” Lavoie whispered again, staring at the colourful shapes invading the screen. “It’s playing Tetris…”

“What did you say, Miriam?” Koven asked.

“I think I might know who’s responsible,” she said under her breath. “But if that’s the case… I mean, it couldn’t be, but it might be…”

“Who?!” Sanders shouted, “Are we under attack?!”

“Guys, we’re about to get a Tetris!” Thompson said, pointing at the blue line piece that was making its way down.

All four of them watched the screen with worried anticipation.

“Your names are on there!” Thompson exclaimed. “How do they know?”

Koven shook his head in disbelief, “What is going on? An interview?”

“Son of a bitch,” Lavoie muttered, “Yeah. I know who did this.”

A few days after the Tetris incident (as it was called only by the four people in the room that day – and was _not_ disclosed to anyone else or to the public media), Matt received a phone call from CSIS human resources.

On the condition that he fixed the security in the system, Matt wasn’t reprimanded for his actions. That, and they couldn’t trace it back to him even if they wanted to.

After noting his ability to navigate the deep web with relative ease, he was hired as a cyber security investigator, and eventually promoted to agent.

 

**-Present Day, Toronto, Canada-**

Mello barely looked up when the door to his cell slid open. The suited duo that he had become acquainted with earlier stepped inside.

Before either of them had a chance to speak, Mello said, “I know you have no right to keep me here.”

Lavoie looked to her partner, then back at the blond. “Beg pardon?”

“You have no evidence,” he said. “You’ve imprisoned me under false pretenses. You have no way of linking me to your runaway agent or anything else for that matter.”

“No links? I wouldn’t say that,” she replied. “I’m not entirely sure of the relationship you had with our agent but perhaps you will recognize his handwriting.”

She took out a scanned copy of a note and held it out to Mello.

Koven watched his expression carefully. “It seems like Matt is talking about you, doesn’t it?”

Lavoie nodded emphatically, “I would say it does, dear. My personal favorite observation is: ‘dresses weird.’”

“Mine is ‘ _definitely in charge of insider trading,’_ ” Koven added.

“Oh yes, that one is good too,” Lavoie said. “He mentions the burn is recent – is that from that mission you took him on when the explosion happened?”

 Mello didn’t take his eyes off the paper, staring at it silently.

“The chocolate is an interesting bit,” Koven said. “Is that personal preference or just a quirk?”

“See, Matt was wondering that too,” Lavoie pressed a finger to her chin. “Remember when he sent us the evidence he gathered from the alley dumpster? My, so many chocolate wrappers.”

“Right, right,” Koven nodded, “that was when he also snapped the photo of the pink-haired woman and found a bag of ammunition shells.”

Physical torture would have been better than this. Mello could hardly keep his hand from shaking at the sight of that handwriting.

They knew so much. And they knew so much because of Matt. Mello hadn’t anticipated that right from the very beginning Matt was scoping out details to send to these people.

“There are some useful clues in here,” Koven continued. “The name ‘Mello’ is an alias, is it?”

“And that fact that you hailed from England. That would help,” Lavoie added.

Mello stood suddenly, crumpling the paper in his hand. “Look, what do you want from me?”

“No need to get upset, dear.” Lavoie smiled, “We didn’t strike a nerve, did we? Our apologies.”

“What we want is Matt’s location,” said Koven.

“I’m not giving it to you,” the blond replied.

“Oh? Even after finding out that he betrayed you? What would you want with him now?” Lavoie asked.

Mello didn’t respond right away. There were a couple of reasons.

Giving away Matt’s location would mean putting the rest of his team at risk as well, since they were all likely at the new building together.

But there was something else. The note, which was unmistakably in Matt’s handwriting, was incredibly vague. Considering it was probably written before the two of them realized their childhood connection, it would make sense that Matt didn’t know much about Mello.

However, why didn’t Matt tell these people about Mello’s true background upon learning it? Was that realization of reunion genuine, and Matt didn’t want to continue betraying Mello?

Or did he just not get a chance to relay this new information yet?

Mello frowned. His team was at risk regardless. “I’m not telling you.”

“Well, we thought that would be the case,” Koven shrugged. “So we’re offering you a deal.”

“As you know, we have your pink-haired colleague,” Lavoie said. “Our duty is to send her back to the experimental military facility from where she came. There, they will decide what to do with her.”

A pained expression crossed Mello’s face as she continued.

“ _But_ they don’t know we have her, and thus aren’t expecting her. We can, say, let her free. If, say, you tell us Matt’s location,” Lavoie concluded.

“What?” Mello was baffled, “You’d let Lucy _go?_ ” This was not a trade he could have anticipated, although it did match up with his prediction that his and Lucy’s captures were unprecedented and unjustified.

Koven nodded curtly, “But not you, of course. The woman’s freedom in exchange for our agent’s location. What do you say?”

 _‘What_ do _I say?’_ Mello thought. If he told them, then Lucy wouldn’t be sent back to that terrible place, where she’d otherwise be killed or worse. But, if they found Matt at the new location, they would probably apprehend Elli, Mike and Nick as well.

The life of one in exchange for the freedom of three others.

“You seem conflicted,” Lavoie noted insincerely. “We’ll give you some time to think about it. In the morning, we’ll come back for your answer.”

 - - - 

Elli peeked into the room full of boxes. “Hey Mattie. Why are you in here by yourself? Did our shouting scare you away?”

“No…” Matt mumbled quietly. “I just wanted to be alone, I guess.”

“This is no time to be alone!” Elli went into the makeshift storage room, sitting on a box by Matt’s side. “We’re a team – we deal with these things together, y’know?”

Matt was on the verge of tears, “…right.”

Mike swung open the door and entered the room as well, followed by Nick.

“What’re we doin’ in here?” Mike asked. “Change of scenery?”

“I don’t think Matt’s taking this too well,” Elli said. “I don’t want him to be alone right now.”

“Hey, it’s okay buddy!” Mike sat on the floor in front of Matt. “This kinda thing happens all the time. If I had dollar for every time one of us got into trouble, I’d have, like, twenty-seven dollars!”

Elli rolled her eyes, “I don’t think you’re helping, Mike.”

Matt bit his lip. “I… have something I have to tell you guys.”

When the three of them turned to look at Matt inquisitively, he had to do his best to keep his voice from shaking.

He took a deep breath, “I know where Mello is.”

Mike blinked, “Well, yeah, he’s in NYPD custody. We knew that!”

“No,” Matt hesitated, “…he isn’t. He and Lucy are both somewhere else. They probably aren’t even in the country right now.”

“Matt, what are you talking about?” Elli asked worriedly. “Why would Lucy be with Mel? Why wouldn’t they be in the country?”

Matt looked down at the floor uncomfortably, “Nick was right to notice that the drug numbers mentioned on the news were wrong. The raid was a cover-up; New York cops and narcotics had nothing to do with it.”

“I knew it,” Nick said triumphantly, “I keep good records!” Then he paused, “Wait, but if a drugs bust wasn’t what happened, then… Where’s the chief?”

“And where is Lucy?” Mike was looking nervous now, “I thought she just got lost or somethin’. Oh god, is she okay?!”

Matt could not ignore the concerned glances that were now fixated on him. “They’re, um, probably in Canada.”

He was met with a confused chorus of huhs and whats.

“Why would Canadian cops want ‘em?” asked Mike. “I don’t get it.”

Matt rubbed the back of his neck. “Um. Well they’re not cops, per se. It’s more like the Canadian version of the FBI. And the drugs are irrelevant; the cause was insider trading. As for Lucy… I’m not sure why they took her.”

“Hang on,” Elli said. “How do you know this, Matt? About the Canadian FBI?”

Matt looked up at the others. _‘This is it,’_  he thought. _‘Now or never.’_

“That’s because, I…” he braced himself, “I… work for them.”

The faces of the others were blank. Mike was the first to break the silence with a hearty chuckle.

“That’s pretty funny, kiddo!” He said. “Almost had me fooled for a sec, talkin’ so serious!”

“It’s not a joke, Mike,” Matt said quietly. He looked at Elli, “I’m not an exchange student from England. I’m in New York on official investigative business. I’m a junior agent for CSIS; the Canadian Security Intelligence Services.”

He rummaged through his bag and pulled out a badge which had his name, photo ID, position and the CSIS crest. He handed it to Elli.

Elli took the badge carefully, holding it as if it were a grenade. “You’re… an undercover agent? So all this time, you were spying on us?”

“N-not all of you,” Matt said quickly. “I was put on the case to investigate the insider trading. I reported back most of the things I learned, but this sudden attack was out of my hands! I don’t know why they came.”

Matt waited, but no one said anything. Elli was staring at the badge, a distant look in her usually shimmering eyes. Mike wore a baffled expression, while Nick’s had one of confusion sprinkled with anger.

“That’s not all though,” Matt continued hurriedly, “I stopped telling them things! I… realized that I didn’t want you guys to get in trouble.” He looked down shamefully, “But I guess I was too late. And I found out that Mello was someone I knew long ago, and now that I know, he’s gone! It’s all my fault.”

At that point, Nick stood wordlessly and left the room. Matt desperately looked to Mike and Elli, his eyes filling with tears.

“I’m so sorry,” he said, “I’m so, so sorry. I was gonna quit the case, really I was! I made up my mind to do so the day before yesterday – I don’t know why they came so suddenly! And now they’re probably looking for me.”

Elli placed the badge down on her lap, “How much do they know?” The tone of her voice was unrecognizable.

Matt faltered, “N-not much. Just that you guys do insider trading. I think my boss was harboring suspicions about who Lucy was, but when I found out about her history, I didn’t tell anyone! I didn’t want them to take her, and I didn’t want them to take Mello!”

“So they do have Lucy,” Mike whispered.

“I’m so sorry, I never meant for this to happen,” Matt cried. “Are you,” he choked up a bit, “a-are you gonna kill me?”

“This explains all the trades falling though,” Elli said to herself. “And that stupid health inspector. We were being monitored the entire time.”

“Matt,” Mike said quietly, “What do you see when you look at us? If you’re really telling the truth now… I want to know.”

The redhead fumbled for words, “What… do I see? I… Well when I took the case, I thought of you all as nameless, despicable people who only wanted to exploit the stock market at the cost of the poor… But then I realized that the rest of you don’t even do it, and that you’re all so _real._

 _“_ Elli, when you took me in to work for you, I was convinced for a while that I was at the wrong place!” He went on, the tears now flowing, “And then I met Mike and Mello and I felt so accepted. Even when I learned that you really _were_ the Manhattan Mafia, and you took me on that mission, I was so scared that I lost people that mattered to me. And when Mello told me about each of your pasts… I couldn’t even sleep, I hated myself so much!”

Elli put her hand on Matt’s shoulder gently, “We’re not going to kill you.”

Matt sniffed, “…you’re not?”

Elli looked to Mike, then back at Matt. “You know that Mello means a lot to us. We would do anything for him.” She paused. “But, I can also see how much he means to _you._ You can’t hide that from me.”

Matt blushed, “I—”

“My point is,” Elli interrupted, “I can see that you’re telling the truth now. And that you aren’t any more pleased with the situation than we are. Also I can’t believe that you thought we’d kill you, dummy.”

“I don’t think the boss’d forgive us if we did,” Mike said, trying to offer a smile. “Plus, since you can still talk to those guys, you’ll help us get our team back! Won’t you?”

“O-of course I will!” Matt couldn’t believe their kindness, “I’ll do everything I can. I can try to negotiate with them, or help you break in.”

“Good. But don’t think you’re forgiven.” Elli said, her eyes narrowing. “That’ll be Mello’s decision. If, after we get them both out, he says you have to go, then you go. No questions asked.”

“I understand,” Matt nodded meekly.

“Are you **_fucking kidding me?_** ” The door slammed open with a bang, revealing Nick in the doorway. The force of the slam knocked over a box of files, toppling it at Matt’s feet. “He’s a fucking **_spy_** and you’re letting him off without so much as a slap on the wrist?!”

“Calm down, Nick,” Elli said firmly. “We need him to help us get Mello and Lucy back. He could’ve not told us anything and we’d be left in the dark.”

Nick laughed sarcastically, “This is favoritism if I ever did see it! How the hell do you know he’ll help? Or that he even _can?”_

In his shock, Matt glanced at the box that fell over in front of him. Among the folders that slid out of it, he could see the graying pages of a newspaper.

 

**-The Following Morning, Toronto, Canada-**

Miriam Lavoie brushed some lint off her blazer. “You ready?”

“Yeah,” said Alex Koven, leaving his coffee mug on his desk. “What do you think he decided to do?”

“Hm, free the woman or save his team? Not sure,” she replied. “I have a feeling he might forsake her and not tell us.”

“Really? I think he’ll tell us,” Koven said. “At least I hope he will, because the longer I don’t know where Matt is, the more stressed I become. I can’t handle it anymore.”

“You won’t get extra stressed if we release the woman though, will you?” she chuckled.

“Let’s not think about that right now,” he said quickly.

As they walked out of the office, Koven’s cell phone rang in his pocket.

“Who could be calling this early?” he muttered, answering the phone. “Yes? Alex Koven speaking.”

“Good morning, sir,” came the reply.

Koven nearly dropped the phone. “Jesus! Matt, is that you?!”

Lavoie’s jaw fell open, “ _What?_ Put him on speaker!”

He nodded and fumbled with the screen, “Matt, are you okay?”

“Where the hell are you?” Lavoie shouted at the receiver.

“Are you okay??” Koven repeated.

“Yes, I’m okay,” Matt said. “There is something urgent I need to discuss.”

“What?” Koven glanced at his partner, “Where are you?!”

“That’s irrelevant,” sounded the response through the speakers.

“What in the world is going on, young man?” Lavoie questioned. “You tell us where you are _right now!_ ”

There was a short pause. Then Matt said, “I’d like to propose a trade.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so long to post. The tetris images drove me nuts! As always, thank you for comments and kudos :)


	10. Finale

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Matt hatches a plan to get Mello and Lucy out of CSIS custody. The team is reunited, but will things ever be the same?

**-8:22am, Toronto, Canada-**

Staring at the phone in his hand, Alex Koven clutched the device in disbelief.

He managed to compose himself enough to say, “A _trade?_ ”

The young voice on the other end of the connection didn’t waver. “Yes. I have something that I am willing to trade you in exchange for your two captives.”

Miriam Lavoie snatched the phone from her partner’s hand. “Matt, what on earth is going on? You want us to release these criminals? What has gotten into you?!”

“I assure you the trade will be worth your while,” Matt replied.

Lavoie was struck with rage, “ ** _What?!_** Listen up, kid. We risked our lives _and_ our jobs to fly down to the goddamn USA to rescue _your_ ass because of a presumed Code Green. Are you telling me then that you were never in a hostage situation? That you _purposely_ tried to throw us off the fugitive’s tail with those communications?”

There was a short pause and then a faint hum. “Ah, so that’s why you came; you thought I was compromised by Lucy? Damn… I should’ve figured you already confirmed who she was.”

Koven hesitated, “Matt… Are you betraying us?”

The two agents could hear a soft sigh from the speaker. “I didn’t mean for this to happen! But you ruined everything by coming in too early. Anyway, that doesn’t matter now. Here is my proposed trade: Mello and Lucy in exchange for the item by which Manhattan Mafia’s insider trading operates.”

Lavoie scoffed, “Oh, so you finally completed the job you were sent out to do? And you think we need it – that we can’t find it ourselves?”

“With all due respect ma’am, you couldn’t do it yourself,” Matt said. “Ever. You’ll see what I mean when I show you.”

Koven took his phone back from his raging colleague. “You do understand that this is undoubtedly going to lead to your termination of employment and likely deportation out of Canada?”

“Yes, and I don’t care,” Matt replied. “At 07:50, I will be at the base that I have traced this phone call to. See you soon.”

There was a click.

Then silence.

“He hung up,” Koven said slowly.

“Excuse my language, but what the fuck was that?” Lavoie asked rhetorically, “Was that really Matt? Our Matt?”

Koven sighed. “I don’t think he’s _our_ Matt anymore, Miriam.”

“I just don’t understand it,” she said. “What could he possibly want to do with these people? To risk the job that he worked so hard to get?”

“I’m guessing there’s something we don’t know,” said Koven.

“Oh yes, Alex,” Lavoie rolled her eyes. “It seems there’s _a lot_ we don’t know! On top of this grandiose revelation, he’s also claiming that he knows how the insider trading happens?”

“Let’s just calm down,” Koven put his phone away. “I’m not happy about this either but you’re the one always telling me not to riled up.”

“Fine,” Lavoie conceded, “but this is one time that it’s completely understandable to get riled up. That boy needs a good slap upside the head. Can’t we just issue a warrant for his arrest?”

“With the connections he has now?” Koven shook his head, “It wouldn’t be a good idea to make an enemy out of Matt. He knows our system inside and out; who knows what he can do? Plus he’s on American soil right now.”

“So what do you propose then?” she asked sarcastically. “We let these guys go in exchange for whatever he brings?”

“Let’s just hear him out,” Koven said. “We were planning on setting the woman free anyway. And if we release the leader, nothing is stopping us from keeping tabs on him from now on.”

Lavoie sighed. “What the hell could he possibly bring, anyway?”

Koven shrugged sadly, “I guess we’ll find out soon.”

 

**-The Day Before, Queens, New York-**

Matt watched the newspaper slide out of a folder, vaguely aware of Nick’s shouting. He thought it was odd that among the files salvaged from the other base, there would be a regular newspaper.

“Do you guys not fully grasp the situation?!” Nick said, clenching his fists. “ _Everything_ is ruined because of this kid.”

“Jesus, Nick, calm down!” Elli was raising her voice too, “I’m trying to think! Not everything is lost, okay? We can get them back.”

“That not the fucking point!” Nick continued, “Don’t you see that he’s destroyed us? The base is gone, all the shit stored in there is gone, our suppliers are all gone, your fucking ice cream shop is gone!”

 Elli bit her lip. “…I know.”

“That’s not all though, oh no,” Nick went on, pacing the floor, “we lost two of our people to the fuckin’ Canadian feds?! And for what? For taking in this stupid kid!”

“But he can help us get them back,” Mike said quietly. “He can atone.”

“Fucking _atone,_ Mike?” Nick reached into his jacket, “Atone! He singlehandedly destroyed us! You’re fucking kidding me.” He pulled out a gun and pointed it at Matt. “Atone my fuckin’ ass.”

“Nick, what the hell?!” Elli stood immediately. “Put that away!”

Nick shook his head, “He should suffer like Amelia did. Why should _some kid_ get special treatment? Compared to this betrayal, Amy barely gave us a paper cut!”

Matt snapped back to reality and was face-to-face with the barrel of Nick’s gun. He instantly went pale.

Elli stood between them, shielding Matt with her body. “You will put that gun away this second, or I will break your fucking arm, Nick.”

Mike stood too, “There’s no need for violence here…! We’re already short two people… Let’s not lose anymore.”

“Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t shoot right now,” Nick said. “I don’t get why you two are defendin’ him so much. Because the chief likes him? Well I doubt he would now!”

“It isn’t our decision to make,” Elli said sternly. “So yes, it is because of Mello that I can’t let you shoot Matt.”

“How can you think he’d want the kid to live?” Nick stared her down, “Don’t you remember where you came from? What he did for us?”

“That’s exactly why I am respecting this choice in this matter,” Elli replied.

Nick kept his stance. “I don’t see any reason for him to remain alive.”

With a quiet crumple of paper, Matt peaked out from behind Elli’s leg. “What if I told you I knew how to get Mello and Lucy back?”

Elli glanced back at him. “You do?”

Matt nodded, then looked nervously to Nick.

“…I’m listening.” Nick lowered the gun but kept it cocked. “30 seconds.”

“This is the key,” Matt held the newspaper out to them.

Nick eyed the paper. “You better be joking, kid. 25 seconds.”

“No, no, look,” Matt said desperately, pointing to the header. “This is how Mello did the stock trades! This is how he knew everything!” He was so excited about this finding that the words spilled out in rush. “It all makes sense now, this is how he knew about the blasts and about all the market activity and even about his arrest! This is amazing, I can’t believe it—”

“Slow down!” Mike said, “What are you saying?”

Matt paused for a breath, “Look! At the date!”

The three others leaned in to look at the front page.

“July 28th,” Elli read aloud. “But today is the 27th.”

“So fucking what?” Nick said, “A newspaper with a typo?”

“Thinkaboutit!” Matt could hardly contain his excitement, “Why would Mello store a newspaper to bring here? Why would he hide something like this – a simple New York Times?? And look!” He pointed to the day’s news, “It talks about the Red Sox game, which is happening _tomorrow!_ ”

Elli blinked, “You can’t be serious about this, Matt. A newspaper from the future? Are you saying Mello is Marty McFly?”

“Is this the best you got, kid?” Nick asked bitterly.

Matt stood, “Wait, it’s easy to prove!” He quickly flipped to the business column. “This must be how he gives you the ticker symbols that’ll rise overnight. All we have to do is remember these numbers and then check the stock index tomorrow!”

“Uh huh,” Nick said, “and if you run away overnight?”

“I swear I won’t!” Matt pleaded, “This all makes sense, can’t you see? How did you all think he did it??”

Mike scratched his head, “I never really thought about it…”

“I thought he had some insider contact,” Elli said. “But that wouldn’t explain knowing about the explosion and about the raid…”

“Exactly! You can tie me up, handcuff me, whatever you want!” Matt said. “I won’t run. In the morning, if the numbers don’t match the ones in the paper now, you can kill me.”

“I’ll hold you to that,” Nick said.

“I know, I know,” Matt took a snapshot of the page with his cell phone camera. “8% rise for the S&P 500 and the Dow. 17% for the NASDAQ.”

“You’re willing to stake your life on this?” Elli asked nervously.

Matt nodded with determination, “Mello did. Multiple times.”

“This is some fantastical shit,” Nick said. “I won’t believe till I see it.”

“You will, you _will_ see it!” Matt pressed the newspaper to his chest. “Until you see it and believe me, I won’t leave – I promise.”

“Your word means nothing to me now, kid.” Nick took a step towards him, “I have my own way of ensuring your promise.”

With one smooth swing, the grip of Nick’s gun rendered Matt unconscious.

 

**-8:10am, Queens, New York-**

Matt awoke on the floor to a searing pain on the back of his head.

“Ow…” sitting up slowly, he rubbed the developing bruise. He was alarmed to feel blood, but was soon distracted by the voices coming from the adjacent room.

He got up with some difficultly and went to the door, opening it. He saw Elli staring at the newspaper in disbelief with Matt’s cell phone beside her. Nick’s eyes were glued to the TV screen, and Mike was sitting on the ground surrounded by the at least twenty of the day’s New York Times issues.

Matt cleared his throat, “So… It worked?”

“Yeah, check it out!” Mike handed Matt the business column page of one of the issues.

“I couldn’t believe what I was seeing,” Elli said, mostly to herself. “At eight in the morning, the words just… started to move! Now it says July 29.”

“The numbers match,” said Nick, “it’s the same on every news outlet. Unbelievable. Eight, eight and seventeen, just like we saw yesterday.”

“Yes!” Matt grinned triumphantly, “Then this is the answer! And it’s the way we get them back!”

“We’ll get the boss and Lucy back with this?” Mike asked.

“The job that I was, um, hired to do was actually figure out how the trading happened,” Matt said. “I think that if I offer CSIS this paper in exchange for Mello and Lucy, they’ll have to agree!”

Nick arched a brow, “You _think?_ ”

“W-well,” Matt gulped, “I estimate the probability of them accepting the trade to be about 85%.”

Elli folded up the newspaper carefully, “I still can’t believe this. Mel had a magic-fortune-telling-anomalous-thingy and never told us?”

“Yeah, we coulda won so many lotteries!” Mike exclaimed. “But then again, maybe what the boss did brought us even more money than that.”

“Why would he need to tell us?” Nick shrugged, “We probably wouldn’t have believed him anyway. He was just doing his job.”

“Yes, but obviously this time, he failed,” Elli snapped. “Matt said the story that played out yesterday with the drugs was a cover, so the paper probably ran the fake news too.”

“Not that it matters now, does it?” Nick turned off the TV, “You’re missing the point: this whole mess wouldn’t even be happening if it wasn’t for the kid. Cover or not, who cares?”

“I can get them back,” Matt said quickly. “I know I can’t really ask this of you, but please trust me. I will set up a meeting with CSIS to do the exchange.”

“And if it fails?” Nick asked.

Matt clenched his fist in determination, “Then you can kill me.”

Elli sighed, “Stop saying that. So you want to go up to Canada now, then? We’re coming with you.”

Matt nodded, “Okay, but I’ll speak to them alone. And I need one person to stay here as a backup for a plan B if they refuse.”

“I’ll stay,” Nick said. “But know that if you fail, I’ll be the first to find you.”

 

**-11:45am, Toronto, Canada-**

Mello waited and waited all morning, but no one came to ask about his decision on the deal proposed to him the day before.

In a way, a part of him was relieved, because he wasn’t able to make a decision. The risk was too great in either scenario.

On the other hand, the lack of communication was unnerving. Had they found Matt and the others on their own? Had they sent Lucy away? What would they do to him?

His gaze drifted to the door when he heard faint footsteps. Standing by the door, he waited for the visitor.

The rectangular sliding compartment in the middle of the door slid open and a tray of food was offered through it. Mello could see the person’s badge read ‘Thompson,’ and recognized the name from the raid.

Still no information. The hunger he felt was secondary to the anxiety from a lack of knowing the situation.

Mello grabbed the tray and immediately tugged it towards him, startling the man on the other side of the cell door. Dropping the tray on the floor, Mello grabbed the agent’s wrists and pulled, slamming him against the door.

“OW!” Thompson’s face impacted with the hard surface. “Let go!”

Despite having no food or sleep for at least 24 hours, Mello held on with surprising strength. “Tell me where the other two are.”

“Hey, c’mon man, I’m not your enemy here!” Thompson tried to pull free, but couldn’t move much from his awkward position against the door.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” Mello said. “But I want you to know that I can do considerable damage to your arms if you don’t answer me.”

Thompson gulped, “W-what was your question again?”

“Where are the other two people? The ones that keep talking to me – a man and a woman.”

“Oh, Alex and Miriam? I-I dunno, probably in the office?” Thompson replied.

“They were supposed to come here in the morning,” Mello said. He bent the man’s left arm backward threateningly, “Why didn’t they?”

Thompson winced, “Hell if I know! I just overheard something about a trade the other day and they were all nervous this morning!”

“Yes, the trade was what we discussed. The release of the other captive in exchange for your agent’s location, right?”

“Oh,” Thompson inhaled, “you don’t know.”

Mello grip on the man’s wrists tightened. “Know _what_? Did they find Matt by themselves already?”

“Not quite,” Thompson mumbled, “but Matt found them.”

Mello relaxed the grip, “…what?”

Thompson pulled his arms free, “Damn, I’ll have to sit out on squash this weekend…” He sighed, “There will be a trade, but the conditions have changed a little, it seems.”

“Conditions? Who is trading what?” Mello asked.

“I’m not at liberty to say now, inmate,” Thompson slammed the door comportment shut. “And I’m not bringing you new food.”

Mello banged on the door, “ _What_ is being traded?!”

From a distance, Thompson replied, “Guess you’ll have to wait and see.”

As the footsteps retreated from his cell, Mello leaned against the wall and slid down to the floor. He glanced at the food that was spilled on the ground and then closed his eyes.

What could be traded now? If Matt contacted them, doesn’t that mean they got what they wanted? Now Mello had no leverage and they could just keep him and Lucy imprisoned.

But then, why would a trade still be taking place?

Was Matt planning on trading something for Mello’s freedom? Was Matt planning to trade Mello for…

 _‘Oh **fuck** no.’ _ Mello’s eyes shot open. _‘Anything but **that**.’_

 

**-The Next Day, 7:40am, Toronto, Canada-**

Outside CSIS headquarters, Matt stood alone before the main entry door. The warmth of the sun had not yet made it down to the earth, and he shivered as he fished around in his pocket for something.

“Let’s see if this still works,” he muttered to himself, holding an access pass. He pressed it to the censor bar.

The machine beeped and produced a touch screen on the door, prompting for a name and pass code. Matt quickly entered his information without so much as taking a breath.

The door clicked and opened.

Matt looked behind him, then to his sides, and then entered. With his left hand, he clutched the strap of his bag, pressing it close to his body. With his right, he ensured that his phone was still in his pocket.

With precise memory, Matt headed to the boardroom. Although he hadn’t made the arrangements to meet in any particular room, he guessed that this is where his ex-colleagues would be. This was the room in which he first gave a presentation on the Manhattan Mafia case.

 _‘How ironic,’_ he thought. He walked into the empty room and went to the far end of it. He stood by the wall, waiting impatiently for his ‘guests.’

Although he tried to look composed, his heart was racing and his hands were ice cold. He rehearsed the scene many time in his head. It didn’t always work out. He nearly jumped when he heard the door open. Familiar faces entered the room.

The first to come inside was Alex Koven. He stood by the edge of the table, opposite to Matt. If there was one word to describe the look on his face, it would be ‘disappointment.’ Matt could see dark shadows under his eyes and knew that he was the one to blame for them.

Koven took a breath. “Hello, Matt. I’m glad to see you’re alright.”

Of all the things he could’ve said, Matt was not expecting this. Pathetically, he mumbled back, “…yeah.” He fixated his gaze on the floor, hearing the clack of heeled shoes hitting the marble.

Miriam Lavoie went to stand beside her partner. Without seeing her face, Matt could tell that she was glaring daggers in his direction.

“You know, I was right to hang up on you when I did, back when you first called asking for a job,” she said coldly. “Changing my mind about hiring you was the worst decision I ever made.”

Matt bit his lip, fighting the urge to run away. He hoped he could wake up, only to realize that this was all a bad dream. But that wasn’t the case.

Lavoie crossed her arms in annoyance. “So? What is it that you are planning on trading?”

Matt glanced at his watch. “I need to know you have them both, first.”

“Tsk,” Lavoie looked to the door, “bring them in, guys.”

The door opened again. Greg Sanders brought in Lucy by the arm. She had shackles on her wrists and ankles, and a bag over her head. Had it not been for the few strands of pink hair visible underneath, Matt wouldn’t know it was her.

“You don’t need the bag,” he said quietly. “She won’t hurt you.”

Sanders looked to Koven and at his nod, removed the bag. Lucy’s eyes fluttered open and immediately met Matt’s.

Her expression was pained. Matt couldn’t bear looking at her any longer, and was soon distracted by the door opening once more.

Pushed inside by Thompson, Mello and the agent both entered the room. For lack of a better word, the blond looked awful. His hands were cuffed behind his back, but even if they weren’t, there wasn’t much he could accomplish in this state. If Koven looked tired, Mello looks positively dead.

Blue eyes stared off into the distance. He didn’t look at Matt.

The image before him made Matt want to hurl. The pain he caused them was so evident. Everyone in the room was betrayed by him, and he felt suffocated by the very air he breathed.

“Well, they’re here,” Lavoie said. “Shall we proceed?”

Matt managed a slight nod and looked at his watch again. Five minutes to 8:00. He had five minutes to explain.

Carefully, he pulled out the folded newspaper from his bag. Koven and Lavoie watched his every move as he placed it on the table, facing them.

“What is this?” Koven asked.

Matt took a deep breath. “This is how the Manhattan Mafia has been doing insider trading. Before you interrupt, please keep your questions and concerns to the end of my explanation because I haven’t got much time.”

The two agents glanced at each other irritably but didn’t say anything.

“If you’ll notice,” Matt continued, “the date of this issue of the New York Times is wrong. It’s today, but the timestamp already says 8:00am. This isn’t a mistake, however, because this news _is_ actually that of five minutes from now. You’ll note that nothing mentioned here has happened yet.”

Koven looked closely at the paper and Lavoie slipped on her glasses and did the same.

“The important thing here is this,” Matt flipped to the business column. “These stock prices and indices are from the future as well. You can see where I’m going with this, right? If you know what will rise, you know what to buy. Before midnight, the newspaper shows tomorrow’s date.”

Lavoie chuckled darkly, “You can’t really expect us to believe this.”

Matt looked at his watch again. “You will. Please memorize the numbers you see on this page. Remember only one or two, if that helps. For example, the TSX will drop by 6% and gold will rise by three-and-a-half dollars.”

“Matt, this is ridiculous,” Koven said, shaking his head.

“Please wait,” Matt said curtly. He watched the seconds tick by on this watch. 7:59 turned to 8:00.

The words on the page began to move. The date rearranged from July 29 to July 30 and the ink shifted to spell new words.

“What the hell…?” Lavoie muttered.

“Now, if you would, please check any news source you’d like for today’s TSX standing and gold price. But do so right now. The New York Times would be preferable as they update their index at 8:00 am,” Matt said hurriedly.

Koven whipped out his cell, opening a finance app. Lavoie did the same, going to the NYT news site.

While they did so, Matt let his gaze move to the two cuffed individuals behind them. Lucy looked confused but seemed too tired to care for the sight in front of her. Mello was staring out the window, unsurprised.

“This is unbelievable,” Koven said under his breath. “This is how they did it?”

“A magic fucking newspaper,” Lavoie took the paper in her hands, “we would never have guessed.”

“So, will that do?” Matt asked hopefully. “That is my end of the bargain.”

Lavoie folded the paper under her arm and turned to Mello. “What does it feel like, hm? Your life traded for a few pages of flimsy sheets.”

Mello cocked his head to the side, “To be honest, I’m impressed he figured it out so quickly. _Great_ agent you’ve got there. You’re lucky to have him.”

The words burned themselves into Matt’s heart. Clenching his fists, he did his best not to cry.

“Not so great, obviously,” Lavoie replied. “Still, this newspaper is worth our while. We’ll need to contain it.”

“You have what you wanted,” Matt said, his voice almost shaking. “So let them go.”

“Hm.” Lavoie glanced at Koven, then shrugged, “Why? We have the paper now. And these two are hardened criminals – we can’t just let them go, can we? After all the trouble we went through of getting them.”  

Koven looked at Matt sadly, “Leave now. Or you will be escorted by—”

“Wait!” Matt pleaded, “You’re breaking your word?”

“You’re one to talk,” Lavoie scoffed. “Need I remind you the contract you signed upon being hired? About swearing to uphold the law and your loyalty to this country?”

Matt sighed, taking out his cell phone. “I didn’t want to do this, but you give me no choice. If you do not uphold your end of the deal, I will expose your actions immediately.”

Koven shot him a questioning look. “Excuse me?”

“I know about the cover up you orchestrated when you infiltrated the base,” Matt said. “And I have proof of it, as our entire conversation has been recorded and transferred to a colleague back in New York. On top of this, I also have proof that the drug raid was a lie, and that no drugs have been seized from the operation you claim happened in your cover.”

Matt glanced at his audience. Skimming the surprised faces of his ex-bosses, he noted a glimmer of emotion in Mello’s eyes. Was it… pride? Before he could tell, the blond looked away.

“I have someone on the phone with the New York press as we speak. They are waiting for him to pass along the scoop, if I say the word,” Matt continued, gaining confidence. “If word got out about an infiltration with a lack of evidence, not to mention housing a fugitive that is wanted by the US government, it would reflect rather poorly on CSIS. You would likely lose your jobs. I could also expose the Tetris incident, while I’m at it.”

Lavoie’s grip on the newspaper tightened. “I suppose we underestimated you, Matt. You are much more fit to be working with criminals than with us.”

“So you’ll let them go?” Matt asked hopefully.

“I just don’t get it,” Koven said grimly. “Whose side are you really on? You’ve made an enemy of us – and regardless of what happens here, you will not be able to work again in this country. Not only that, but with your actions, I don’t hesitate to think that you’ve made an enemy of this mafia group too.”

Matt couldn’t answer.

Lavoie nodded, “Even if they _would_ want you back – which I doubt – there would be nothing to go back to. The building has been seized, and we handed over its property and everything in it to the New York police.”

Matt noticed that Mello tensed, ever so slightly.

“That, _and_ we pretty much ensured constant surveillance,” Lavoie went on. “Who would want to deal or trade with a crime syndicate that was being watched like a dog?”

Koven looked to Matt sadly. “So then, what is the purpose of all this?”

The redhead looked down. “I… don’t know. I don’t know what I’m doing, but I did it, so could you please let them go now?”

With a dejected sigh, Koven turned to the agents holding Lucy and Mello. “Take them outside. Set the shackle timer to open after you’ve gotten back inside safely.” He smiled solemnly at Matt. “Good luck, agent. And goodbye.”

Sanders and Thompson nodded, leading their captives to the front yard of the building. Matt trailed behind pathetically, keeping a few meters’ distance away from them. Reaching into his pocket, he hung up an ongoing call.

Once outside, the two agents configured a countdown timer on the binds. They then went back inside the building, pushing past Matt with slight glares of disappointment. The doors shut with a click.

Within a few seconds, the cuffs unlocked and fell to the ground with a light clank. Within another few, Elli and Mike were running towards the yard from either sides of the long building.

Given a huge running start, Elli pounced on Mello, attacking him with a flying hug. “You’re okay! You’re alive and you’re okay and you look terrible!”

Mello wrapped his arms tightly around her. “I’m sorry that I made you all worry so much. Do I really look that bad?”

Elli pushed back and immediately slapped his cheek with an open palm. “You _idiot!_ How could you keep this all from us?!”

Stunned, Mello rubbed his reddening cheek. “…This is how you greet me?”

Tears forming in her eyes, Elli hugged him again. “We could’ve helped you, you stupid idiot. You should’ve told us about that goddamn newspaper! That, and all the stuff we could’ve helped you avoid! Such as this!”

Confused by the mixed display of affection, Mello rubbed her back. “I’m sorry. I couldn’t put you at risk. And the things foretold in the paper couldn’t be avoided anyway… Not that it matters now, since it’s gone.”

“Ugh, you could’ve been imprisoned!” Elli cried. “Don’t you care about yourself at all??”

Mello shrugged, “I get enough care from you for the both of us.”

Elli shook her head, “You’re such an idiot. I missed you.”

“I missed you too,” he said, hugging her closer. “And I missed you as well, _Mike._ ”

The words flew over Mike’s head, who was busy inspecting Lucy for injuries.

“Are you okay? Did they hurt you? Did they threaten you? Did they _threaten to hurt you?_ ” Mike grasped her hand, “Did you eat properly? Did you sleep?”

Lucy leaned forward, pressing their foreheads together. “I am fine. Really.”

Mike embraced her, “Oh you must’ve been so scared! I should’ve been there with you! I should’ve been arrested too!”

Lucy patted him on the head. “It wasn’t so bad. Good facilities here.”

“You’re so brave, Lucy!” Mike spun her around, “I’m so glad you’re okay!”

“A-hem,” Mello coughed.

“I’m glad you’re okay too, boss!” Mike grinned, going over to Mello while still holding onto Lucy’s waist. “What was it like? Did they interrogate you?”

“Not as much as I thought they would,” he confessed. “They were nothing like cops. Although, I imagined Canadians would be more polite than that.”

“Everything turned out better than expected!” Elli pulled the three of them into a group hug. “I was expecting the worst. Thank god they didn’t extradite you or send Lucy away!”

Lucy nodded emphatically, “I thought they would do that.”

Throughout the commotion and cheerful embraces, Matt stood off to the side, awkwardly looking down at the grass. He was glad that the plan worked – perfectly, too. He knew though that his exposure threats wouldn’t go through, ironically because he didn’t see it in ‘tomorrow’s’ news.

What he was worried about was the next step. What would happen from here? After all that they lost and this betrayal, will they take him back…?

 

**-Later that day, Queens, New York-**

It was an uncomfortable flight back for Matt. Luckily, he was able to keep to himself at the back of the jet without incident.

After the reunion, Mike had thanked Matt for the plan and actually told him ‘good job’ for pulling it off. Elli insisted that they at least fly Matt back to New York, as his stuff was still there.

Mello hadn’t said a word to him.

Back at the new Queens building, Nick welcomed his team back eagerly. Hugs and handshakes were exchanged, and Mello and Lucy told the others about their time in containment. The gun wasn’t raised again.

Then the conversation switched to the newspaper, and Mello recounted the day he found it and decided on its use. He told them about Wacky Wally and the fire, as well as all the tests he ran on it back in the day.

Mike was upset that he wasn’t able to get winning lottery numbers while Elli complained that she could have posed as a fortune teller and made the Polar Parlor famous. Matt looked away after seeing the sudden hurt in her eyes.

At that point, the conversation lost its excited flurry. As realization of the events dawned on everyone, Elli pressed her hands together in her lap.

“My ice cream shop is gone for good, isn’t it?” she said softly.

Mello sighed, “Looks like it. They seized everything in Manhattan.”

“Wait, what?” Nick gasped. “ _Everything?_ We had a bunch of cash and gold there that we hadn’t transferred yet!”

“I know,” Mello said. “We also had some inventory in hidden storage. If they haven’t found it yet, they will.”

“Shit,” Nick clenched his fist. “And it’s not like we can get more now that we have no dealers.”

Mike looked down, “So… what’s gonna happen now?”

“Now,” Mello said, “the Manhattan Mafia will be making some changes. I always had a plan B ready for such an occasion, should it occur.” He smiled sadly, “Give me a few hours. I will talk to each of you then.”

\- - -

Mello didn’t need to see the Newspaper to know that it was going to be exchanged for his freedom. He had figured it out almost immediately when he learned that the plans had to change.

He knew, but he hoped he was wrong.

When Matt took out the paper from his bag, its fate was sealed. Quite literally, since it won’t see the light of day ever again.

“What a mess,” Mello said to himself, leaning on the window sill of the upstairs office room.

Mostly empty, the room had only a single desk and a few storage boxes. Even the chairs were still unassembled after the move.

For about an hour, he stayed at the window, watching the sun go over the horizon. After he left his team, and Matt, downstairs, he washed up and changed out of the pale grey clothes that were forced on him in captivity. He tossed them in a trash bin.

Now he was left in silence to ponder his next steps. The whole situation was indeed a mess, to put it lightly.

Granted, things could’ve been much worse. Lucy could’ve been sent away, or even killed. CSIS could’ve gotten their hands on the location of his team and arrested them as well. And, of course, Mello himself could’ve been kept in jail if the Newspaper exchange hadn’t been made.

Mello rested his chin on the palm of his hand. He knew the trade must’ve been Matt’s idea. He had to admit, it was a good plan, especially with the backup of doing an exposé on CSIS’s questionable tactics.

 _‘But now it’s gone,’_ he thought with a frown. The paper brought immense profits without any consequences—

Well, no. There _were_ consequences, as Mello realized when he was in Canadian custody. The Newspaper wasn’t perfect and couldn’t filter between real and fake stories.

He sighed in frustration. How could he not consider a cover-up? Because of his blind obedience to the paper’s fortunes, he put Lucy in danger.

And it wasn’t just Lucy, either. He put all of the people closest to him in danger by trusting Matt. By not seeing though the boy’s disguise and by letting him get too close, Mello basically walked right into a trap.

Because of this, nothing was ever going to be the same for the Manhattan Mafia. Could he even call it that anymore?

The blond shook his head absentmindedly. There was no way for the group to trade with others anymore. There was no active disguise either, since the Polar Parlor was dismantled. There was no way to guarantee stock numbers anymore – which meant that all of those customers would leave as well.

Having stared at the setting sun too long, Mello rubbed his eyes and turned away from the window. It was time to activate plan B.

Over the years, Mello developed a series of safety nets and escape routes for himself and his team, should the need ever arise. The plan was not without its faults, but it was doable.

Mello went to the door and called up his team – only the four, naturally.

Nick went in first, followed by Mike and Lucy coming in together, and Elli trailing in last. With nowhere to sit, they all stood around awkwardly, watching Mello.

“Are you just gonna let him leave, chief?” Nick asked apprehensively.

Mello blinked, “Who?”

“Matt…” Elli said. “We left him down there. Should we have handcuffed him?”

“Oh.” Mello thought for a moment. “No. He won’t leave. I’ll deal with him later.”

“How can you be so sure?!” Nick demanded. “He’ll run away!”

“Don’t worry about it, okay?” Mello kept his voice calm, although he was being eaten away by both guilt and anger. “I needed to speak with all of you first. This is more important.”

“What’s going on, boss?” Mike asked nervously, “Did you think of a way to fix everything? Like you always do?”

“Things aren’t quite so fixable this time, unfortunately,” Mello said. “As you probably figured out by now. No, my plan B is more like an alternative rather than a solution.”

He glanced around the room, welcomed by an unexpected silence from the people in it. Usually, someone would have something to say. But not this time. The forlorn looks on him teammates’ – no, on his friends’ – faces made him want to disappear.

“To put it simply,” he continued, “I think it’s time for all of us to… go our separate ways, so to speak.”

Elli smiled hesitantly, “You’re breaking up with us?”

Mello looked down. “I guess you could say that. It isn’t safe for you guys to be with me anymore. I have nothing left to offer you – and even if I did, it wouldn’t be worth the risk. Before you worry, I have several options available for each of you—”

“Wait, what?” Mike took a step forward. “Are you serious? We’re not leaving you! We’re a team!”

Lucy and Elli nodded emphatically, agreeing in unison.

“Just because this whole shitstorm happened, doesn’t mean we can’t start over!” Nick said, “You’re not getting rid of us.”

Mello smiled. “I’m touched, but my decision has already been made.”

“We get no say in this? How dare you!” Elli crossed her arms, “You can’t just order us to leave!”

“Just hear me out,” Mello said. “Please?”

When the room quieted down again, he went on.

“This doesn’t mean I won’t see you again. I will, in due time, reconnect with all of you. But for now it just isn’t safe. Regardless of what you say, I will disappear from New York tomorrow – and I suggest you do the same.”

“This can’t be happening,” Mike whispered. “Where will you go? Where will _we_ go?”

“Don’t worry,” Mello replied. “I’m getting to that.”

\- - -

Time ticked away slowly – minutes turned into hours and the rays of the sun disappeared behind treetops and skyscrapers.

Curiously, pedestrians would glance at the lone figure sitting on the curb outside a seemingly uninhabited apartment building. A middle-aged woman stopped mid-stride to smile comfortingly at the stranger and held out a ten dollar bill.

“Here, darling. Get yourself something to eat,” she said.

Matt blinked, confused by the sudden intrusion of his thoughts. He looked up at the lady. “Pardon?”

“You look famished, love.” She placed the ten dollars in front of him. “I suggest you bring a cup or something next time. Makes it easier for people to give donations.”

Matt stared at the money. “Um. I’m… not homeless.”

At that point, she had already walked away, unable to hear him. Matt shrugged and put the money in his pocket.

He got restless waiting on the first floor for whatever was to come. But as he stepped out the front door, something compelled him to stay. Unable to make a decision, he spent the next couple of hours sitting on the curb.

He considered creeping upstairs to hear what the others were talking about, but remembering his close encounter at gunpoint, he decided against it.

Mello had said, “I will talk to each of you.”

What did that mean? He was talking to the others now, yes, but did ‘each of you’ include Matt?

He kicked a pebble with his foot, sighing in frustration. Why couldn’t he just _leave_ , for god’s sake? He had his stuff back – it was neatly packed away in his bag, sitting at his side on the curb. He had enough money to get out of New York, and he could just leave and go…

Where?

Right. That was the reason he couldn’t leave just yet.

Matt pressed his knees to his chest, resting his head on them. He was generally pretty good at anticipating things – as well as overanalyzing situations – but he had absolutely no idea what was going to happen.

He sat on the street for longer than he could remember. Finally, startled by the sound of the door opening behind him, he got up.

Elli stepped out of the building, alone. She had faded streaks of mascara staining her cheeks.

“Hey, Mattie,” she said. It was in a volume barely above a whisper. “I’m glad you’re still here. Mello wants to see you now.”

Matt gulped. “…he does?”

“Yes, but he said he won’t kill you, and he’s always true to his word,” Elli smiled. Her smile then faded, “But first, I wanted to talk to you.

“Um. Okay,” Matt nodded.

Elli took a short step forward, “You know, I consider this whole mess to be my fault. If I hadn’t bugged Mel that day to give you a job, maybe things would’ve turned out differently.”

“No, no!” Matt said frantically, “It’s not your fault at all! It’s mine. I’d find another way in, so please don’t blame yourself.”

“It doesn’t matter much now anyway,” she said. “What’s happened has happened and nothing will change the past.”

Matt bowed his head, “I really am sorry…”

Taking another step forward, Elli embraced him. “I know.”

Wordlessly, Matt hugged back with all his might.

Elli put her hand on the back of his head, “I think you’re a good person, Matt. In another life, all of us could have been together. I can’t speak for everyone, but I forgive you.”

Tear began stinging at Matt’s eyes. “…You do?”

Gently, Elli broke the hug. “I do. I just wanted to give you a proper goodbye and wish you only the best. Maybe one day we’ll meet again.”

Matt was taken aback, “You’re leaving?!”

Elli smiled sadly as a cab pulled up on the side of the road. “Go upstairs. If Mello thinks you ran away, things will be much worse for you.”

“But—”

“Bye, Mattie.” With a small wave, Elli got in the car. It sped off, leaving Matt once again alone on the sidewalk.

Matt took a deep breath. Not allowing himself to cry, he picked up his bag and went inside the building.

Afraid to lose his motivation, he hurried up the stairs without stopping to look around the now-empty rooms. He paused at the closed door, his hand hovering nervously over the doorknob.

He could still leave. He could just turn around and walk out the door—

“Come in.”

Too late.

Matt gathered his courage and opened the door. He saw Mello standing by the window, with his back to Matt.

“How did you know I was there…?” Matt asked quietly.

“I can hear your heart beating from across the room. Would you relax? I’m not going to kill you,” Mello said, without turning around.

Matt instinctively put his hands over the pounding in his chest. “O-oh.”

The blond sighed. “Nick told me what happened. I’m sorry you had to go through that. If it makes you feel any better, the gun wasn’t loaded.”

“…Oh,” Matt said again.

Mello turned to face him. He had an envelope in his left hand and he placed it on the empty desk.

“I have to say, I was pretty blindsided by pretty much everything you did. Then again, I never faced off against someone else of my own upbringing,” he said. “From the whole agent thing, to how quickly you found and figured out the paper, to the trade and even a backup plan. Quite impressive.”

Although Matt could tell the words weren’t meant as praise, he couldn’t help but feel a touch of pride.

“I just have one question,” Mello said. “Who do you regret betraying more?”

“Y-you, of course!” Matt choked out, shocked by the question. “I mean, I do feel bad about having to threaten Mr. Koven but if that was what I had to do to get you out, then so be it!”

“Oh?” Mello raised a brow, “What was your game plan, Matt? With the whole ‘undercover mission’ thing? Did you think that if you ignored it long enough, it would go away?”

Matt clenched his fists. “I… don’t know. I went in with a clear goal, but when I got to know everyone, I started doubting myself.” He looked down in shame, “When I found out who you were, I wanted to stop the whole thing!”

“But you didn’t.”

“I was trying to!” Matt cried, “Really, I was! I didn’t know how to get out of the mission, but I wanted to, so badly. I messed up because of it. I tried throwing Mr. Koven off Lucy’s track, but they thought I was taken hostage. That’s why they came in suddenly – I had no idea!”

“Blindsided even by yourself,” Mello said with slight amusement. “That must’ve been quite a wake-up call.”

“If it wasn’t for that, I would’ve told you everything. I just needed time to figure things out, but it was too late,” Matt said.

“Why didn’t you leave?” Mello leaned against the desk, “You didn’t have to risk your life to get me and Luce out.”

Matt bit his lip. “…I think I made the right decision.”

A moment of silence passed through the room.

“I know it probably doesn’t mean anything to you,” Matt said, “but I am so sorry. I was so happy to… to be reunited with you. And when I thought I lost you again, I wanted to die!”

It was Mello’s turn to look away. Although he was keeping a calm composure, his heart ached to hear Matt’s words.

There was so much lost time to make up for – so many stories to share and even more to create.

But it wasn’t meant to be.

Mello took the envelope off the desk and held it out to Matt, keeping a few feet of distance between then.

Matt looked at it apprehensively. “…What’s this?”

“Consider it your severance package from the Manhattan Mafia,” Mello said. “You did work for me for a while, after all.”

“I don’t understand,” Matt took the large envelope carefully, “you’re giving me money? For what?”

“It isn’t just money. Inside, you’ll find a plane ticket to London and papers for hotel accommodations for three months. I trust by then you’ll be able to find another job,” Mello said. “I contacted an old friend – he can help you find work. In the meantime, there’s £50,000 in there for everything else.”

Matt stared at him. “…W-what?”

“I know you’re not stupid, Matt. You understand what I’m saying.”

“But I thought…”

Matt’s voice trailed off. What did he think? That things would go back to the way they were? Just like that?

Despite his best efforts, tears welled up in his eyes. “I don’t want to leave!”

Mello couldn’t bear to see Matt cry. He turned away, toward the window. “I will tell you as I told the others. This isn’t up for debate.”

“But where will _you_ go?!” Matt demanded. “I can go with you! Please… I’ll follow you anywhere!”

Mello shook his head, holding back the urge to break down. “I can’t tell you where I’m going, and I’m going _alone_.”

Matt wanted nothing more than to grab Mello’s hand to keep him from leaving. He wanted to hold on so tightly that the two of them would never be separated again.

He wanted to, but… he knew it would be useless. Whether Matt took the plane to London or not, he knew Mello would be gone without a trace as soon as he shut the door.

Mello, completely exhausted from the events of the day, held onto the windowsill. He could hear the quiet sobs coming from the other end of the room.

“I’m sorry,” Matt whispered. “Don’t leave me again.”

 _‘I cannot hate you, but I could never forgive you.’_ Mello closed his eyes.

“Goodbye, Matt.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here is the finale! If the ending upsets you...  
> ...  
> ....  
> .....  
> Don't fret! On Monday, August 10th (my birthday), there may be an extra little part posted. An epilogue, if you will. 
> 
> Thank you for reading!


	11. Epilogue

**Some time later...**

**-A Tim Horton’s Café, somewhere in Ontario-**

Sitting by the window, a man with tired eyes sipped his coffee. His un-ironed suit jacket hung over the back of the chair. He gazed out to the rainy street, unaware of the approaching footsteps.

“Is that you, Alex? Oh my god, it is.”

He looked up to find the source of the familiar melodic voice. “…Miriam?”

“One and only,” Miriam Lavoie pulled out the second chair at the table and sat down. “It’s been a while, huh?”

Alex Koven took in the sight before him. “You look great,” he blurted out.

She smiled, “I wish I could say the same for you. When’s the last time you slept more than a few hours?”

He chuckled, “Don’t remember.”

A comfortable silence passed between them. Miriam hung her purse over the side of her chair and took off her blazer.

“What are you up to these days?” she asked.

“Mostly work,” he replied. “I’ve been getting the night shift lately. It isn’t the best but I have a roof over my head so I guess I can’t complain.”

“Ah,” Miriam pursed her lips pensively. “You found work with the police, right? Which department?”

Alex nodded, “Homicide. It was a long shot, but an old high school buddy of mine put in a good word.”

“Oh, yeah? That’s good.”

“How about you?” he asked.

“I took up teaching. French, in a university. I also give some criminology lectures from time to time,” she said.

Alex blinked. “I didn’t know you wanted to teach.”

“Well, did you want to be a cop?”

There was a pause. Alex sighed and stared into his coffee. “Not really.”

“It still bothers me to this day, Alex.” Miriam leaned forward slightly, “Why did you do it?”

“What are you referring to?” he asked scornfully. “Why did I confess to the board that I ordered the unjustified arrest and release of two criminals? Or why did I turn over the fortune-telling newspaper to containment?”

Miriam frowned. “Both.”

“It was the right thing to do,” he said quietly. “I went into that line of work mostly due to my oversensitive moral compass. I wouldn’t be able to sleep at night knowing what I did.”

“And you can sleep at night now, with a job you don’t like and a life you can’t stand?” Miriam asked rhetorically. “You had such a chance.”

Alex looked up, “Do you hate me?”

“What?” Miriam shook her head, “No, of course not. You suffered most of the backlash from the suits. I quit before they had a chance to terminate me.”

“…you did?”

“Unbeknownst to you, I took a glance at that paper before you gave it to those weirdos in lab coats at the containment foundation.” She searched around in her purse for something, and then took out a slip of paper.

Alex took it from her, then gasped. “You didn’t.”

“I did,” she smiled. “I really lucked out on the lottery the next day.”

“How much?”

She placed a finger over her lips. “Not telling.”

“Unbelievable,” said Alex. “I could never understand you, Miriam.”

“What is there to understand? I may not be living the ideal life but I’m relatively comfortable.”

“If they didn’t fire you, why did you quit?” he asked. “You loved that job.”

Miriam glanced out the window. “It wasn’t the same without you, I guess.”

Alex sat up, setting aside his coffee. “…Are you free for dinner tonight?”

 

**-Hyatt Regency banquet hall, somewhere in Massachusetts-**

To the sound of polite applause, the mistress of ceremonies made her way onto the stage and stopped in front of the microphone. She held in her arms a large bouquet of assorted flowers.

“Thank you all for taking the time out of your busy lives to be here today. My name is Susan Greene, and I will be your host this evening.”

The woman glanced out over the audience. Beautifully decorated tables filled the large banquet hall, each with occupied chairs.

The guests, dressed in formal wear, waited for her to continue. Each table was covered with fancy hors-d'oeuvres and bottles of wine.

“I am so honoured to be here,” she said. “The thirteenth gala event is the biggest one yet!”

The crowd cheered and guests exchanged smiles with one another. Clinks of champagne glasses could be heard, resonating through the banquet hall.

Susan continued, “As with previous years, this event will celebrate the work of incredibly generous individuals, with a special guest starring as our honouree. After speeches, we will have a live music performance and conclude with a silent auction. Of course, all proceeds will be donated.

“Without further ado, I would like to announce the guest of honour of this evening,” she said.

The audience murmured with anticipation.

“Our honouree is a journalist, much like myself,” Susan said earnestly. “I’ve met him a few times in the past and am always taken aback by his kindness and seemingly boundless generosity. I’m proud to say that I was a bit of an inspiration to him in the field and am delighted to working alongside such a _unique_ colleague.”

There were a few chuckles in the crowd.

Susan bowed her head. “Having suffered enormous tragedy in his life, we can only admire the strength of this individual. It takes great courage to maintain a giving heart in the face of loss. It is truly admirable.”

A few heads turned to one of the guests, sitting at a table on the left. A few others smiled in his direction.

Susan adjusted the microphone. “Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome the ALS Association’s Annual Gala guest of honour, my good friend, and founder of the incredibly successful Layla Fund, Mike Truman!”

As the spotlight focused in on Mike’s table, he gasped. “ _Me?!_ ”

The other guests at his table chuckled as the one beside him squeezed his hand.

“Go, go, it’s you,” Lucy said hurriedly. “Quickly!”

“R-right! I’m going!” Mike got up and, after giving Lucy a tight hug, made his way to the stage.

Susan handed Mike the bouquet of flower and embraced him.

“Congratulations,” she said. “I wouldn’t want to announce anyone else.”

Nervously, Mike stood in front of the microphone. From the side of the stage, Susan gave him a thumbs-up.

After a few seconds, a familiar voice from Mike’s table started chanting, “Speech, speech, speech!” Soon after, the crowd joined in.

Mike rubbed the back of his neck, “Okay, okay, thanks Nick! I get it.”

Nick raised a glass of wine triumphantly as Lucy giggled.

“Speech, okay, I can do that,” Mike said. “Um, first of all, thanks so much for giving me this honour. And thank you to everyone else to gave to the ALS Association. No donation is too small!”

The audience clapped, with a few cheers, and then settled down.

Mike cleared his throat. “Uh, okay. I guess I just want to say how important all of this is to me. I couldn’t believe how much attention the Layla Fund got, and how much support! Let alone being featured at an event like this…”

He looked down at the bouquet. “My sister and I were raised by our dad. He was the best dad anyone could ask for and, cruelly, he was taken from us way too early by ALS. If I give away all my money to ALS research, it would never be enough to make me stop missing him.”

Mike’s voiced cracked and he paused for a second. “But raising awareness isn’t the only goal of the Layla Fund. After our dad passed, Marcia – my sister – and I were left alone.

“At a young age, she basically sacrificed her future to singlehandedly get me through school. That’s why I want this Fund to help the families of those who passed from this terrible disease. It doesn’t only affect the sufferer, but also everyone around them, as I’m sure many of you know, sadly, from personal experience.

“The Layla Fund is named after my late baby niece, in memoriam of her, my sister, and,” he sniffed, “my dad.”

Lucy and Nick nodded approvingly in the direction of the stage.

“Before I go, I also want to thank my friends,” Mike continued. “Thank you to Susan Greene, who urged me to go back to journalism when I almost lost my way again. Thank you to my good buddy Nick for sticking by me all this time.”

He grinned, “A huge thank you to Lucy, the light of my life! I wouldn’t want to imagine a world in which I hadn’t met you!”

Lucy hid her blush behind her wine glass, smiling brightly.

“And lastly,” Mike said, “I want to thank someone who couldn’t be here tonight.”

The crowd grew somberly quiet.

“No, no, I don’t mean that he’s dead!” Mike uttered quickly. “Well, to be honest, I don’t know if he is, but I sure hope he’s not!”

He laughed, and held up the bouquet.

“Mello, if you can somehow hear me, thank you. You gave me a second chance at life when all I wanted to do was take my own. And after all that, you even set me up here with a good job and wonderful life… I can’t possibly express all the gratitude I feel,” he said, tearing up. “You were a great boss and I hope that, wherever you are, you’re doin’ okay. Thank you.”

 

**-** **Marché agricole, somewhere in France-**

“Bonjour mademoiselle,” the elderly man smiled from behind his stand at the weekly farmer’s market. “Ça va?”

“Oui, ça va,” the blonde-haired girl smiled back, opening her wallet. “Deux gallons de lait, s'il vous plaît.”

The old man nodded, opening the large cooler and taking out a few glass bottles of milk to place in front of her. “Comment t'appelles-tu, chérie?”

“Elise,” she replied. “Mais je préfère Elli.” She looked through her wallet for some cash. “C’est combien?”

“Ah, mademoiselle Elli!” the old man said suddenly. “Je te connais. La fille de la crème glacée! Gratuitement, pour toi.”

“Non, non! J’insiste,” Elli shook her head, unwilling to accept free produce from the farmer but amused at being called the Ice Cream Girl.

The man pushed the jars of milk toward her. “Faites-moi un cone, un jour.”

Elli sighed in playful dejection, agreeing to make him a cone. “Okay!” She put away her wallet and took the milk. “Merci beaucoup! Au revoir.”

“Au revoir, chérie,” he waved after her.

Mood brightened, Elli skipped down the cobbled streets of the small French town. She stopped for a while to admire the aquamarine waves of the Côte d’Azur, noting that she should definitely go to the beach on the weekend.

Holding onto the milk carefully, she made her way towards the building that was soon-to-be Polar Parlor 2.0. For now, the exterior was complete but the inside was under construction. A pink and purple sign hung on the door which read “à venir bientôt!” indicating that the opening was coming soon.

Elli pushed open the door and went inside. She set the milk jars in the large storage fridge and looked around.  She had a lot of work to do, but it would be worth it once complete.

“Àllo? Elli?” A knock came on the door, “J’ai les fraises~!”

“Coming!” Elli opened the door, letting her friend inside. She took the baskets of strawberries from him, placing them on the counter.

“Freshly picked,” he said. “I had to bargain in French, Elli! It was hard,” he pouted. “Next time, you go.”

“Then you’d whine about bartering with the milk farmers, Jeffery,” she said with a smile. “Thanks for the berries.”

“Anytime!” Jeffery leaned on a table, “So do you need anything else? Do you have enough money left over after buying the land?”

Tying the Polar Parlor apron around her waist, Elli nodded. “I have more than enough! I was thinking of donating some to that community centre they’re building on Promenade des Anglais.”

“Introduce me to this sponsor of yours!” Jeffery said jokingly. “Is he single?”

Elli laughed, “I don’t think you’re his type – no offense. He likes redheads, I think. Now get out of here, I gotta make that cake for you!”

The friends exchanged hugs and once alone, Elli went back to work.

She was thankful for the friends she made upon arriving in France, especially those that spoke English. She took the strawberries to the sink and started washing them thoroughly.

Although heartbroken by the split of her old team, Elli decided to make the most of it as per her old boss’s request. After traveling for a while and meeting new people, she settled in a small town and decided to resurrect her beloved ice cream shop, with a French name.

“ _Le Parloire Polaire_ ,” she hummed, “I think Melly would like that.”

From the corner of her eye, she spotted someone sitting at one of the tables on the outdoor patio. “Guess they didn’t see the sign,” she grumbled, going to the door. Peeking out, she said, “Excusez-moi, le parloire n’est pas—”

Her words caught in her throat. She instantly recognized the stranger to be an all-too familiar mentor she thought she’d never see again.

 

**-** **The Polonez Express, somewhere in Europe-**

It was cold and damp in the back-most car of the train. The air was thick and every exhale produced a small puff of visible breath.

Matt scooted over to sit by a box, hoping it would block him from the piercing wind breaking through the cracks in the windows. He hid his hands in the sleeves of his sweater, trying to warm up in vain.

The Polonez was an intercontinental sleeper train, with high quality bunks and four-star meals.

Unfortunately, the same praise could not be given to the storage car, attached to the very end of the train. It was much too cold to sleep.

Matt could have probably found enough money to buy a pass, but considering he didn’t have a European passport or a Visa, he would not be allowed on the train, with or without a ticket.

He wondered if he made the right decision by getting on the train.

There was another vagrant in the storage car, huddled up with a wool blanket in the opposite corner. The stranger awoke from a restless sleep and noted Matt’s existence for a first time.

She sat up. “You speak English?”

Matt nodded hesitantly.

“Don’t be scared, I’m not a gypsy or nothin’,” she said. “I’m Maria. What’s your name?”

“It’s Matt,” he replied softly, through chattering teeth.

“Weird name,” she said aloofly. “What’s a kid like you doin’, hitchhiking a train? Where are you goin’?”

“It’s, um, kind of private,” he said. “I’m trying to find someone.”

Maria scoffed, “Suit yourself, I was just tryin’ to make small talk.”

As the stranger drifted off to sleep again, Matt rested his head on the wood.

With a sigh, he closed his eyes and listened to the clicking of the train wheels as they rolled across the border.

 

**-** **Ploschad’ Muzhestva Station, somewhere in Russia-**

Stepping onto the subway platform, Mello made his way to the exit. He pulled on the hood of his coat when he reached the street, inhaling deeply as soon as he was outside.

The afternoon sky was dotted with clouds and the pale sun of October whispered the snow would soon be coming.

He took in the familiar surroundings, simultaneously overwhelmed with nostalgia and loneliness. Readjusting his grip on the cardboard box under his arm, he set off down the streets of his hometown.

Without drawing attention to himself, the blond figure expertly navigated the avenues of St. Petersburg. The street names had changed and most of the signs and buildings had been replaced, but the routes were unforgettable.

Whether he liked it or not, they were etched forever in his memory.

Mello walked past a row of dilapidated houses, boarded off with wooden planks and posters that indicated their destruction to make way for a new shopping district. He glanced at the street side grocery store, once a farmers market, advertising Halloween candy.

When he approached the less-populated part of the city, a pedestrian grabbed Mello’s arm and shoved him aside.

“Что в коробке?!” demanded the stranger, revealing what appeared to be the glint of a knife inside his coat pocket.

Mello rolled his eyes, offended at the insinuation that he was hiding money in the box he was carrying. But, spotting the weapon, he kept his voice calm as he recalled his mother tongue.

“Ничего особенного,” he said, trying to convince the man that there really was nothing of interest, or value, in the box.

Baffled at the defiance, the stranger exposed the knife and threateningly moved it towards Mello.

The blond couldn’t help but laugh. “What a nice welcome,” he said under his breath as he reached inside his own coat, drawing a gun.

He pressed it to the robber’s forehead, releasing the safety.

As expected, the man dropped his knife and froze on the spot.

He backed away slowly, uttering, “Простите!” and various other apologies. When Mello took a step forward, the man broke into a run and disappeared into a side street.

Mello sighed. “There’s no place like home…” he put the gun back in his coat and continued his journey.

Finally, after a few kilometers, Mello reached his destination. He stood before the wreckage of an old church, now completely unidentifiable as such.

The only parts of the building remaining were its walls, and in the center of the ruins, a collapsed bell. Mello went over to the back of the church remains, to a small but unmistakable cemetery.

He kneeled down beside a cross-shaped tombstone, swiping off the dirt from the epitaph to reveal the faded letters reading ‘Елизавета Киел.’

_Elizaveta Keehl._ The date underneath her name marked 1966 – 1993.

Mello placed a gloved hand on the top of the tombstone.

“Hi, mom,” he said in a whisper. “I’m sorry I didn’t come sooner. Guess it took me over twenty years to finally decide to pay you a visit.”

He looked around to ensure he was alone. “You can’t really blame me for not wanting to come back here, can you? You must’ve hated this place as much as me. Well, maybe you didn’t. But I can’t imagine you loving it either when they slaughtered you for it.

“Sorry. That was out of line,” he said apologetically. “Anyway, I just wanted to bring you something. It’s long overdue, but like I said, I wasn’t really looking forward to coming back here.”

Mello set the box down on the ground.

“A lot of things happened over the years. You probably know, if you actually watch over me as you so adamantly claimed angels did.” He opened the flaps of the box, “Then you also probably know where I went before coming here. It was sort of like a soul-searching journey, I suppose.”

Mello took out a few items from the box, laying them in front of the tomb stone. He then started to dig a small hole in the space beside it.

“This was all I could salvage, unfortunately. It’s still better than nothing, considering how many years had passed. I gotta tell you though, going back _there_ was even worse than here. Nearly threw up the second I got off the plane. Couldn’t eat during my whole stay.”

He placed the items in the makeshift burial plot, one by one. “You remember Anya’s ballet shoes, right? She begged and begged for them, even though we all knew ballet was nowhere in her future. The night before our birthday, you slipped some coins in my pocket and winked at me. I knew you wanted me to buy the shoes for her.

“But I didn’t have the heart to tell you that the money wasn’t enough and I had to steal them. Anya was so happy to get them, so I couldn’t gather the courage to confess.” He carefully put the small pink shoes in hole.

Next, he placed a crumpled paper. “I couldn’t fucking believe I found this. After that place was shut down, I didn’t think they kept anything from the experiment cells. Let alone our drawings.”

He layered some dirt over it, concealing the four crudely drawn stick figures: two shorter ones and two taller ones, with hearts between them and a sun overhead. “This was Anya’s favourite. I helped her draw you – because she couldn’t remember what you looked like. I remembered, though. Still do.”

Mello put some children’s clothes over the paper and the shoes. “These were saved too. I didn’t know what else to do with them, so I figured you might like them. I have no idea where Anya’s body is, after all. Probably in ashes.”

Lastly, he pulled out a black and red rosary from the bottom of the box.

“When you died, I took this from your room and kept it with me. I always regretted stealing from you, but I thought I should keep a memento or something. But it hasn’t really done much for me over the years, so I think it’s time I gave it back.” Carefully, he placed the rosary on the clothes.

“Life is really an unfair thing, you know?” He sighed, “Yeah, I guess you do. I wonder what you’d think of me, knowing that I grew up to lead a pretty immoral life. I try my best not to kill anyone, but I’m probably going to hell anyway, wouldn’t you think?”

He blew some hair out of his eyes. “I like to think there are some people that like me, though. I had some friends… Had to leave them recently. I hope they don’t hate me,” he frowned. “I couldn’t leave them with much other than money and whatever connections I could find.”

“I wonder what you’d think of them if I introduced you. There’s this one girl, real cute but kinda weird. Kicks ass at poker but prefers serving ice cream and _making people happy_ ,” he chuckled. “So weird, right?

“There are these two guys with messed up pasts. One had a shitty wife and family, but he’s alright when not angry. My right-hand man suffered his fair share of tragedy; lost his whole family and still manages to make people laugh. He’s head over heels in love with this girl, who herself didn’t come from paradise. The two of them are sickly sweet together, in a good way.

“There was someone else, too…” he said hesitantly. “Someone I really liked. But things got complicated, and everyone got hurt. It may sound hypocritical, but a part of me hoped he wouldn’t leave. Guess it’s my fault too. Well, I’ll leave it to fate, as you always say. Uh, said.”

Mello sat on his knees and shoveled dirt into the burial plot with gloved hands. He patted the ground to even it out and stood, taking off the gloves and tossing them aside.

“It was nice talking to you,” he said. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to go get smashed to forget where I am.”

Turning away from the cemetery, Mello faced the ruins of the church. He stepped over the crumbling walls carefully and looked around.

In the wreckage, he could still make out the passageways and where the rooms used to be. He sat on a stable surface, something that was probably once a church bench, and put his face in his hands.

Having been on the road for so long, he didn’t have much time to rest. He closed his eyes for a second, which turned into a minute, and then, unknowingly, he dozed off.

It was already darkening when he awoke to a sudden noise.

He jolted up, keeping one hand over his gun, listening to the footsteps of a supposed intruder. While the building’s walls were mostly broken, they were high enough to conceal the area directly in front of him.

Mello got up slowly, focusing in on the sound of shoes hitting the stone. There was no way it was an animal – the steps were definitely human.

“Who’s there?” he shouted. An echo of his voice bounced off the walls.

He saw a glimpse of something through a crack in the bricks. It was…

Red hair?

Mello lowered his gun in disbelief as a familiar face peeked out from behind the wall.

“…Matt?” Mello had to rub his eyes to ensure he wasn’t still asleep.

Matt nodded slightly. “Y-yeah. Um, hi.”

The redhead stood awkwardly in front of Mello, shivering uncontrollably.

Mello blinked the sleep out of his eyes. “What are you doing here? More importantly, how did you find me?”

“I, um…” Matt looked away, “I have my ways.”

Mello stared at him in confusion. “Why are you here?”

Matt looked as if he was contemplating something. After a few moments of silence, he looked up at last. “Could you… put the gun down first?”

“What?” Mello glanced at his hand, “Oh. Whoops.” He placed it down by his feet. “Better?”

As soon as the weapon was out of his hands, Matt was suddenly in front of him. And he was suddenly trapped in a hug.

“Wh— hey!” Mello almost toppled over a rock behind him, barely regaining his balance.

Matt didn’t say anything, instead hugging tighter and burying his face in Mello’s coat.

Mello was unsure of what to do. He could now feel every single shiver of the cold body pressed against his. Hesitantly he hugged back, trying to share some of his warmth.

“Matt, what are you doing here?” he asked again.

“I didn’t know Russia would be this cold in October!” Matt whined, trying to still his chattering teeth. “It’s worse than Canada!”

Mello sighed. “Are you gonna keep avoiding my questions?”

“…no,” once Matt’s shivers calmed down, he relaxed his grip slightly. “I wanted to find you… I tried to do what you said, but I hated London, and I didn’t know that your ‘old friend’ would be Mr. Whammy! He annoyed the crap out of me and I was just overly miserable there and I felt so bad about everything and I know you never wanted to see me again and that you hate me but I just had to find you and tell you that I—” he took a quick breath, “can’t live without you and I want you to take me back!”

Mello was stunned. “…Oh.”

Without realizing it, Matt was tightly gripping the back of Mello’s coat with trembling hands. “I found you because when CSIS captured you, they put a tracker in you as they do with pretty much everyone, just to keep tabs on them, and before they locked me out of the system, because Sanders is a procrastinating idiot, I had access to it and was able to track your location.

“I saw where you were going over the last few weeks and I saw that you went to Estonia and then went through France and then came up here, and I just couldn’t take it anymore so I decided to follow you!”

Mello was trying very hard to process all this information, “They were tracking me?”

“When I broke into the system, I disabled it on their side,” Matt said hurriedly. “So that they couldn’t find you.”

“Oh,” Mello said again. “…Thank you.”

Matt pushed back from the hug, looking up at the blond. “I… I’m sorry. I’m sorry about everything! Please don’t hate me.”

Mello put his hand on Matt’s head, “I don’t hate you, dumbass.”

“…You don’t?”

“Look, it’s complicated, okay?” Mello took a step back so he could look at Matt. The redhead had tears in his eyes which were likely going to freeze. “I can’t believe you came this far to find me.”

“I would go anywhere,” Matt huffed. “And I’m not leaving ‘till you forgive me! What do I have to do to make you like me again?”

Mello couldn’t help but smile. “I forgot how cute you look when you’re being stubborn.”

Matt blushed. “Well I’m not giving up!” He looked around, “Aren’t you lonely too? The places you went to, including this one… I have an inkling of what they mean to you. You don’t have to keep all that to yourself.”

Mello put his hand on Matt’s cold cheek. He wondered briefly if any heavenly forces were responsible for this coincidence. “You’re saying you want to stay by my side?”

Matt nodded.

“No more betrayals?”

Matt shook his head.

Mello leaned in. “You promise?”

“I do,” Matt said desperately. “Please forgive me!"

“Hm,” Mello hummed, “I dunno…”

Clenching his fists, Matt stood on his tiptoes and closed his eyes. In the most nervous display of affection, he gently kissed Mello’s lips.

Mello almost gasped in shock. Taking in the situation, he slid his hand down to Matt’s back and dipped him down.

They locked eyes.

Matt’s face was flushed but he couldn’t bring himself to look away.

Mello shook his head and laughed. “Okay. You win. I forgive you.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who has taken the time to read this story. It started out as a little thing back in late May that I wrote up for fun and it grew into a story with about 70,000 words! I didn't think I would finish it, and now that it's done, I'm proud but also saddened by its end. 
> 
> I truly hope you enjoyed following this tale.
> 
> PS: Hopefully the non-English text is intuitive by context! I speak both French and Russian, so if you need to translate it, you can ask. Otherwise, popping it into Google translate should do the trick :)


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